hiya if you're reading the first two ‘stories’ and want to listen to the songs as you do (which i highly recommend loll they're both amazing) the names are above each piece of writing )

(705 words off SHUM - Go_A, instrumental version)

“Andrew!”
“Felixe!”
“What?”
“Them- they're calling!”
Everyone stopped short and gasped. Was it really? Would they have sounded the alarm… had the Syndicate arrived?
Mika ran to the window and peered out through the falling snow. Sure enough, the hawks were screeching. A regular pattern. That could mean only one thing. He turned to face the rest of them.
“They're here.”
Heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs. Andrew grabbed his torch and lit it, praying that it wouldn't go out. Felixe turned his head to the gray heavens and whispered.
“Shuma, help me. Help me against the Syndicate.”
He turned and grasped his motorbike handles.
Mika pulled his helmet on and looked once more to the hawks. They had stopped. This wasn't good.
“We have to go! Now!”
The revving of the engines rang through the rusted garage. Felixe opened the gate and let the others through, swinging back onto his bike as they shot off into the spring snows.
“Ready?”
“Ready!”
“Ready.”
The wind whistled through their helmets. The steady thud of their motors whizzed through trees that were shaking with ice and dead pine needles. They had their intense beams on, combing the forest for the Syndicate.
They followed animal tracks, sunlight and halved tree logs. They raced through snow piles and over frozen lakes.
Finally, they paused. Mika had told them too. He lifted up his visor to see the first sign of life in ages- a-
deer.
It sprang away, but Andrew had noticed something strange in it's tail.
A microchip.
A tracker.
“Follow that stag!”
The chase resumed. The deer led them through winding passages and over creeks. The birds seemed to stop to watch their chase. Their song haunted the frozen forest.
Soon, the deer paused in a clearing. In the center of it were what looked like ancient stone ruins and more modern wooden log shacks. The trio looked at each other.
“'They're here. Search the area!” commanded Mika.
So they did, with an increasing sense of urgency. The air around them was getting colder, and they wouldn't be able to survive the night in the frosty spring. They had to stop the syndicate from altering the weather and taking over the forces one by one.
They dug through brambles. They chipped at the crumbling stone. They wrenched the huts inside out.
And they found nothing. Not even a chip.
They were tired. they had to keep going. But how could they? There had been no evidence. Until Andrew went to the bathroom by a tree.
“Uh, guys? I think I found… something.”
The trio went to investigate the machine. It was a machine, wires snaked out of it. But what was it?
Suddenly, a voice played out of nowhere.
“Ah, the little fools. You think you can stop us?”
“Who are you?” shouted Mika.
“Well, that doesn't matter now, does it? You're trapped in this clearing. You can't escape. So enjoy the last- oh, three minutes? -of your life. Buh-bye!”
A countdown was displayed on the machine.
3:00
2:59
2:58
“It's a bomb.”
Andrew's face widened in terror. He rushed to his motorbike, just inside the woods- and was pushed back by an invisible barrier.
A shrill scream rang out.
The wind seemed to blow harder and faster. The adrenaline levels of the group shot up.
A ticking noise began to thud out.
2:23
2:22
Tick, tock.
“Guys, help!” shouted Felixe, pawing at the wall.
They tried futilely to escape.
Tick, tock.
A distant laughter rang out.
1:34
1:33
1:32
Tick, tock.
Mika was studying the alarm frantically. He noticed something.
“The seconds are getting shorter.”
0:59
0:58
0:57
Tock, tick.
The three stared at each other. Felixe was crying a little.
0:43
0:42
Tick.
0:41
Tick.
“It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay.
0:23
0:22
Tick, tock.
Fifteen, fourteen.
Tick.
Tick.
0:10
0:09
0:08
”Mika…" Andrew trailed off.
0:06
Mika curled up in a ball. The others copied.
0:03
0:02
0:01
Tick, tock.
0:00
Tick, tock. Tick, tock, boom.
The walled-in area exploded in a fiery ball of flame.

(436 words from Metronome by Toe. This text is describing grief/depression so tw )

It's wet. The steady fall of raindrops platter down on my shoes. I'm in shock.
I fiddle aimlessly with my gloves as the words of the sermon flow over my meaninglessly. I don't think I've realized that I will never see her again.
I will never see her again.
People are rising around me. They deposit roses onto the tombstone. The petals are battered by the rain, ever growing more insistent. I realize that I must stand as well, must go and pretend to say goodbye to her. But I know that I will never truly be able to say goodbye.
I place my roses on the cold stone. Beneath it is her body.
I will never see her again.
But what about the time when she helped me across the road when I had broken my ankle? The moments we spent picking out treats and cakes for birthdays. That time on Easter when she comforted me as my mother died.
Who will be here to comfort me as she leaves this world?
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to forget. I cannot break down right here. I can't.
But it's so, so terrible.
The photos sitting passively on the mantelpiece, her and me, laughing, grinning, teasing.
I look at her grave. It's adorned with petunias and primroses and daisies and fruit flowers and lilacs.
She loved lilacs.
I scream internally. I scrunch my face up and cover it with my hat like a child.
The rain keeps pitter-pattering down onto the ground. Falling from sad skies to the world- even more miserable, for me- below.
It's time to go home soon. But I don't think I can face the dark rooms and the empty hallways. I'll be wandering them by myself, now that the kids are with their aunts. They couldn't face it. I don't think I can either, but I must. For this cruel, cruel world. Why subject innocent people to such misery? It's unbearable.
I used to read with her. We'd go to the local library and sit by the fake fires, laughing as we read completely different books. That will never happen again. That will never happen again.
I crawl into a ball and scream, louder, louder. But it's silent, the entire world is silent except for the steady drop of rain.
I'm not actually on the floor, in person. But I may as well be. I'm not here anymore. This isn't the same world as before.
I look upwards. As if letting out all it's tears out at once, the sky lets rain begin to pour down, drenching the miserly sights before me.

pt 2
inspired by a board game i made up called ‘era of empires’ that is now the only thing we do at school =3
the names of the countries mentioned are chosen by my friends and are mostly references/stolen from books =33333
742 words heh

==

I sigh. I can see- barely- another island over the horizon from my high vantage point of the watchtower. Now that I think of it, perhaps it wasn't smart to conquer land so close to the Turq's when I wasn't planning to attack… may or may not have provoked a certain war. It hasn't yet, thank god- but it will soon. I can smell the blood just as readily as I can smell the salt from the sea.
It's not that we won't win the war. We might, in fact. But I don't want THEM against me… not the Sonaism allies. They're not particularly strong, no… but there's a lot of them. A lot. And one, like me, hold the title of one of the three Global Superpowers.
I assumed the Turqs were peaceful… well, I suppose they were. Until I-
stupid, stupid, stupid!-
invaded their block of islands. Now… well, we'll just have to pray that we win the battles without too many casualties.

==

They're coming.
The Capitol.
Their ships advance through the storming waters as I watch.
I lower my spyglass and sigh. The alarm is blaring, and all around me is chaos. But in the midst of it, here I stand. By myself. Always by myself.
Unlike most factions, I have almost no backup from other countries. My main ally, the Angles- they're far too wrapped up in their own troubles. The last I heard of them, they were being surrounded by the Feponeese…
I'm alone, apart for a few gifts send from abroad. I scowl. Death presents, I'm sure. They don't support me. They're also backing the Capitol. They want me gone.
I'm not even a threat- except for my reputation. Excessive intelligence, planning, patience… they're scared.
They're scared of me.
Of us.
The thought revives my spirit. We're a threat. We are feared. They think we might by stronger.
I will prove that we are.
We are the Inswaelians.
We are the giants of the Northwest.
We will make their fears founded. We will conquer.
As the ships grow ever closer, I grab my blade and sprint down the stairs onto the battlefield.
We're ready.

==

I know that I'm one of the three Global Superpowers. I know that I have an entire continent to my name. But the reality is, I'm weak.
I may have miles and miles of land, but it's infertile and sickened by a seemingly everlasting drought. My people are starving and dropping like fleas. And now I'm being surrounded by Fepo.
I can't conquer any more land around me- I'm just too poor and can't spare any money. I can't cut them off. The only thing keeping people from defeating the Angles is my reputation. And size on the map…
If it comes to war, I'm sure I'll lose. I can't spare any gold pieces to upgrade any army related things, I don't even have enough people to overpower them.
They said Nilo was the land of golden rivers. All this continent has given us are problems.
Perhaps it was Southern Nilo. Perhaps it is here on Northern Nilo, and we haven't discovered it. It doesn't matter; it won't help right now. Not with the enemy camps meters away from our border.
I sigh. Maybe I should just give in…

==

So. The Capitol's attacking Inswael, huh?
I'm praying for the Inswaelians. As is my country. Not because I think they're going to lose- in fact, I don't even think I have to distribute help. Their leader's too great of a tactician. No, we're praying for our close neighbors because we want revenge on the Capitol.
They broke our truce. We had agreed. We were neutral. And then they attacked.
We were caught by surprise, and despite a surprising amount of donors- I suppose one of the fist real fights inspires a lot of support, thanks a lot- we had no real chance. Even I admit that. But the Capitol did lose one thing- our respect for them and our truce.
We're enemies now, and our country- well, we're not the kind to forgive and forget. So we're rooting for the Capitol's downfall. And therefore, praying for Inswael.
When its just a few left, we'll probably be fighting, all three of us. I mean, we're ANNOYNGLY close in proximity. But that day can wait- for now, all I want is a win for our neighboring islands and a raw, harsh lose for our opponents.


Part 3, continuation of Part 2
The main theme I incorporated is good vs evil, as in many different factions fighting battles. Each country believes themselves as the good ones, and usually their opponents as ‘evil’. It's up to you to decide which factions are truly ‘good’ and ‘evil’- if you read this, please lmk in the comment chain your opinions!

==

So I'm here.
I'm basically just a spectator, I guess, in this seemingly everlasting battle for world domination. I don't get it. What's the point in fighting, murder and bloodshed when we could all just be peaceful and live in harmony?
At least I'm not anywhere near the battle. I'm just a large- very large, in fact- colony near the south of the globe, in the continent of Southern Nilo. I have allies, and therefore technically enemies- but I don't fight anyone. I'm here with my people just farming away at our lush fields.
But I know everything that's happening. I get letters from many people, asking for supplies, requesting alliances and, from my allies, just inquiring into the prosperity of Jeremyville, our great country.
I know about the Inswael-Capitol war, and the brewing tension between the Wizarding World and the Turqs. I know Fepo's side of the whole Fepo-surrounding-the-Angles because we're allies.
And what do I plan to do about it?
Heh. Absolutely nothing.

==

We lost the battle, but I guess a few good things came out of it. We might not have quite as many enemies, I hope? I know we resolved an issue- bad judgement on my part.
Actually, it sounds ridiculously counterproductive, but I'm kind of glad we lost the war. The Inswaelians were merciful- they are an intelligent faction, led by an imposing leader- and honestly, with the amount of effort I put into the preparations I wasn't so fussed.
I think we're neutral, or even friendly now. I know I may have made a couple enemies in my first battle against the Maygas. And I did break a truce- however, I do believe that truce wasn't something I should have made in the first place. It only benefited them- no mutuality there. So I don't regret attacking them.
Also, we won, so…
In both wars, I've been seen as the higher power, the great faction that all should be wary of… any not to toot my own horn, but I think that we, the Capitol, are quite a strong country. But we've needed to borrow a painful amount from others- and we've always been in debt for a period after a battle. I'm sure that interest rates are bound to go up. Drastically.
Especially from those rascals in the R.O.A. They're sneaky, they are. I'd rather not have anything to do with them, but… they are good for a large borrowing spree in a short period of time.
Anyways, I think it's time for me to take some advice from my friends down in Southern Nilo and be neutral for a bit. Regain some strength, perhaps stock up so I don't have to deal with any moneylenders.
Surely, nothing important like any battles will involve me in the near future.

==

I've spent a while negotiating with the leader of the Turqs. They've agreed to seal a temporary deal of peace- but I still should remember to look out for them.
I travel the long journey, south from the continent of Arctica, to the borders between Iyanistan and Norca. My mainland is a huge, gaping block of territory between the two continents. Ah, to think we started as such a humble society in those border mountains how far we, the Wizarding World, have come!
I decide to spend the next few weeks claiming more territory, to the southern coastline of the Norcan continent. It should go well- I have no contenders on these continents except allies!

Weeks later, here I am.
Boiling with rage.
Because who, of all people, are waging war on me- the Feponeese.
Don't they have enough enemies?

==

So I know that I don’t have a lot of allies. Or even friendly relationships. Or many neutrals.

To tell you the truth, I’m mainly everyone- and I mean everyone-’s enemy.

And honestly, I don’t care.

We, the Feponians, rose from a small, oceanside tribe on the southeastern coast of Amaya. It wasn’t an ideal place to begin world domination. We’d already made enemies by ‘trespassing’ on the R.O.A’s land. Honestly, they’re so annoying! But we quickly migrated to the Niloan-Amayan islands, which we conquered pretty quickly. Nobody dared to attack us! I’d like to think we were- and still are- the most powerful faction.

I planned to travel to the Hundred Isles, and sneakily betray my allies, D13. I’d conquer all those small little coastal lands!

But the D13s found out, and that rampage had to come to a swift end.

So we sailed to Northern Nilo. It’s occupied, mostly, by one of the three Global Superpowers, the Angles. Pfft. Superpower indeed! We quickly surrounded the western half of them, and I imagine it won’t take much to finish the second-biggest landmass on planet Erdas off. What a joke.

But the Angles can wait- I've set my sights on the northernmost continent, Arctica- particularly the small country of Mage. I’ve landed my fleet of ships on the south coast of Norca. But- hi, ho. Here we go again!- the Wizarding world don’t want us on ‘their’ continent. Pfft. The Wizards and the R.O.A!

Us as Fepo weren't going to back down. We stood our ground on this foreign continent- even as we were outnumbered and surrounded by the Wizards. And here we are, still waiting for the battle to strike!

So yes, we’ve made many enemies. Some call us stupid for spreading out our land so wide. But we- and only we, it appears- know the path to world domination.



==



The leader of the Wizarding World has retreated to Norca. I think they're currently dealing with their own battles- probably against the Feponeese, knowing what usually happens. But this only means one thing for us, the Turqs-

That they think we’re not going to attack.

They think the battle has been resolved. With a petty ‘truce’, no less.

They have the audacity to move to our neighboring islands, to almost declare war on us and then to say that they never really meant to fight, they didn’t want to hurt anyone.

Yeah, right.

We were a peaceful island tribe. It’s their fault that now we are on the offensive.

And now, with their army distracted by Fepo,

The time has never been better



AND IM DONE WOOOOOO if you read all this why thank you D
ok im bored so here are the names off all eoe (the game) countries, their names in the story and their colours on the map in the gmae D

name of country irl // name in story // colour
–
Wizarding World // Wizarding World // Dark Blue - ref to hp
The Capitol // The Capitol // Olive Green - ref to hg
Fepo // Fepo // Tan - ref to our english teacher- ‘for educational purposes only’
Jeremyville // Jeremyville // Yellow - that name is just *chefs kiss*
England 2.0 // The Angles // Red - they ‘have no clue what to name my country’ xD
District 13 (D13) // D13 // Dark Green - hgg ref
Republic of Aftonia (R.O.A.) // R.O.A. // Orange - fnaf reference
Inswael // Inswael // Purple - ref to a book idk what it is xD
n/a // Mage // Magenta
n/a // the Turqs // Turquoise
n/a // n/a // Light Pink - wasn't mentioned in story
n/a/ // n/a/ // Light Blue - wasn't mentioned in story


oh, the continents are based off our earth aswell the planet is called Erdas, like from spirit animals-
some continents are based on sa as well D
-Arctica
-Norca
-Iyanistan
-Amaya
-Northern Nilo
-Southern Nilo
-The Hundred Isles


lmk which faction was your fave and which you think is mine D

byee! contemp ftw!

Critique for Stormi <33

Stormy_Brook wrote:

So, here we are again.

I wonder how you could have found me against this backdrop of distance I'd left between us,
Until I realize,
It was probably me who found you.
Nevertheless, I can already feel you wrapping your web around me,
Your tendrils taking hold, the way
Darkness captures the night sky.

I'd have left you if i could by now,
But it's love that's keeping me here.
Who knew love could be stolen?
And I've tried to cut through these ropes?
But they've got both my hands.
Oh, I'm like a bird that's never seen the sky.

But you: with your cigarettes and your pills,
With your smiles and your lies,
The ones you shoved down my throat.
I'd sooner smash your face with breakfasts plates before I'll let myself be served on them again.

And you've stolen my voice,
And you've laid eggs inside my mind,
And you've laid seige to my heart,
Said I wouldn't need it for anybody but you.
But you haven't taken my pen,
And you haven't cut off my hand.
I'll be writing with my left foot if that's what it takes.
You won't be taking me.
No, not if I can still trace words out of my scars.

You promised we'd be friends,
But your laughter crashed down on me.
The sky fell in ribbons and I plunged with it,
Carrying with me the only way I knew to carry on.
So I fell back to you,
Back into your nest.

I guess I never learned to fly.

Stormi, this is a very beautifully written poem. It uses a good mix of literal and figurative language, and overall, the structure of lines feels very nice, smooth and fitting. One thing I'd suggest doing is making it clear what points and parts of the poem you want the overall emphasis to be on. One way you can do this is to separate a sentence, phrase, or clause onto two lines instead of one, so that one line has only one or two words on it, which adds importance or emphasis on both those two words and the overall idea to the feel of the poem.
As an example, (and this might not be a line you choose to emphasize, it's just one that works well for this) instead of writing

Nevertheless, I can already feel you wrapping your web around me,

You could write

Nevertheless, I can already feel you wrapping your web
around me,

Another thing I'd suggest doing, again to add emphasis, but also to make the poem flow slightly better, is to make the lines a little more consistent in length, maybe with the exception of one or two to add emphasis on those. I don't mean making them uniform, where they all have the same number of words or syllables, just where if you glance at the poem it looks, well, even. A suggestion I'd make is to split the second line,

I wonder how you could have found me against this backdrop of distance I'd left between us,

in one of two places. To put emphasis on it, I'd split it here:

I wonder how you could have found me against this backdrop
of distance I'd left between us,

Or to keep it more neutral on emphasis, I'd split it here:

I wonder how you could have found me against
this backdrop of distance I'd left between us,

Either one would leave the poem much more even in overall line length, and the only outlier left would be

I'd sooner smash your face with breakfasts plates before I'll let myself be served on them again.

Which, by the way is an absolutely phenomenal line. If I were writing this poem, I'd leave this line long, not split like the others. However you could split it as well, in a variety of different places.
Other than this, I wouldn't make any syntax changes. Every line is written clearly and beautifully, exactly what you want in a poem. Every word gets the exact right message across to fit in with the poem's overall subject and the other words around it.
One other thing that's good to think about in a poem is how the theme or subject is woven in throughout it, how you want it to be woven in, and whether those are different. Does it ever clearly state the theme? Do you want it to? Does it incorporate the theme? Work around it? I'm not going to give you actual critique on this because this part is entirely up to the poet. However it does seem to me like the theme is woven in in different ways throughout the different parts of the poem, so you might want to consider whether you intended that or not and whether you want to keep it that way. Overall, this is a beautiful, strong, well-written poem and I enjoyed reading it greatly. Thank you for letting me critique it! (480 words)

Weekly #3


Part 1:

a. Music: 14.3 Billion Years

That joyful night, as we huddled over the bonfire and fought for its comforting warmth, the beautiful notes of something odd, something far and distant filled our camp and our hearts. Those notes felt like something lovely entering our hearts, giving us hope to continue along the trail on which we walked, and never to stop. But, we all knew the truth: those notes were far away from us, far away from reality. However, my heart wanted to protest, prove the truth wrong.
The moon, as it greeted us with its faint glow, mixing with the faint, faraway, but captivating notes, was what brought the troubles ahead.
We dozed off soon, not at all realising it was those golden notes which had helped us to fall asleep. The night brought something else as well, something I thought was only a myth, a fairy tale, that it didn’t really exist. But of course it did. Large shadows as many as us surrounded our camp. No one knew what was happening on the other side of their dreams. The shadows were dark, a void in the beautiful glimmering glow of the moon. Every time the light touched them, each of them became darker. It was a matter of mystery what may occur next, not that we knew. It was me who first awoke, and then slowly it dawned on all the other campers that the night wasn’t beautiful anymore. Everyone called them the monsters of the forest, I called them the monsters of ourselves. I was an outcast, clearly. I liked to see myself as a ‘truth-facing’ person. Someone who knew what was going on, within, someone who knew what the truth was, the actual truth that most humans seemed to overlook. I had never thought it would come so far as to facing monsters and to realise they were born from our thoughts, and perhaps it was those golden notes that saved us from facing this tragedy at a much earlier time.
I wondered what those notes were, and what they contained, because far away as we were, it was impossible to truly understand the meaning of it. I decided to search for our saviours. Maybe they were the truth which I seeked. Maybe they were the fruit of all I spent on this camp. I inched away from the rest of the group, and continued forward. No one even noticed I was gone. Somewhere in my heart I knew they didn’t care. I kept on moving forward in the direction of the music, and instead of listening to it, I tried to decipher the message it contained.


b. Music: A Day without Rain

All that was left were tears and the burn mark on my wrist as I saw them walk away. What was I to do now? I looked into the open sky, looking for an answer, but there was none. It was beyond my belief that they had deserted me. I did not know who they were, but the three months I had spent with them had proved to me that I could never be what I am if not for them.
I looked down at the mouth of the volcano below me. Suddenly, I felt a cold drop on my cheek. What was that? Rain? Had rain graced the volcano with its presence after all these years? The drops kept falling until I realised that the days without rain had ended now. Perhaps it meant it was time to forgive and forget. But why did they stay with me on only the days without rain?
The rain was pouring now, and the soil felt wet under my feet as I climbed effortlessly down from the volcano.
They had been cloaked figures that I thought I would be glad to be rid of, but despite all the pain they caused me, all the injuries, their was a sort of enchantment around them, a mist that pulled me to them. Perhaps it was so that I was stuck in the past, and I should tell you that it was they who were to blame. But slowly, every drop by drop of the cool rain that relieved the land of its drought, the coolness that warded off the burns, the fire and molded it into something heartier, cooler, more full of life. I have no idea how to describe this feeling, but knowing that I am finally free makes me feel delighted. To be honest, I am happy they left, for if they hadn’t, how would the rain feel as pleasant as it did now? I am sure it would not have the same feel.
The effects of the rain were quick, and the dryness was relieved so fast that it felt as if the rain was a surreal natural experience. It didn’t feel real at all. What was it?
And as I watched the raindrops falling, making the usual pattering sound, I realised I needed to know something. It had been bothering my mind for three months, but I never really acknowledged it.
Who were they?


Part 2:

I had been the fairest princess our dynasty had ever seen. My father always told me to be proud of my beauty, and I was. I had eyes the color of dawn and a splendidness that was utterly unmatched. Tresses of pure gold, my mother called my hair. I highly valued myself for being everything I was. A crown of gems adorned my hair, and flowers were sewn into my lovely, thick golden tresses. Well, not sewn, but braided. I just do not know how to describe it. An antique family heirloom, a necklace of rare crystals lines my neckline. There is a tinge of violet and rose in my appearance.
One of many mornings when I wake up, as usual before the sun, I feel odd, especially when I notice the other kids in the fields, playing in muddy puddles. I sigh. I should be grateful for all the beauty and prestige god had granted me. But yet, I had an unexplainable desire to run through the fields and roll in the mud.
After a relaxing shower, I call for a glass of warm almond milk, while in the meantime throwing open my wardrobe, which was lined with a vast expanse of enthralling floral gowns, adorned with flowers on almost every corner. I comb my long, flowing hair, with its gorgeous pink and violet streaks. Next, I go down to the garden to collect some fresh flowers, and then I decorate my hair with them, along with some pretty crystals. I then rinse my face and apply a natural cream. A lip gloss on the lips, some lovely earings…
I walk into the courtyard just in time to see the sun rise. I have this sudden feeling of longing to just run and dance, not in a royal manner, but the jumping and hopping type. I look around to see if anyone’s watching. If any of my parents would’ve been here, they would have told me that it is quite unprincess-like to jump and hop and dance in such a way, but there’s no one to see me. I try to tuck in my gown, but it does not work. I wrap it into a bundle and then try, and miraculously it worked. I took off my sandals and jumped. It pleased me quite a lot. I tried again. And again. And again. I try kicking and combining all of them to create a routine. I laugh between pants, falling to my knees. I keep laughing. I just can’t cease it. I collapse on the soft grass. I stand up again and try it again.
I look around to see if anyone is looking. My mother was the daughter of a faraway but powerful king, and my father was a highly respected man, being the daughter of the 8th ruler of this region called Aravendella. It was a lush green country with animals and faring being highly respected. I had some friends, mostly the sons and daughters of court ministers or neighboring kings. My father has quite some connections. I see that it has gotten late, and rush up to my bedroom, untucking the gown. It was a little wrinkle but hardly noticeable.
People wouldve started awakening by now. I apply a little touch of lip gloss and set my flowers, so no one would suspect. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the glass of almond-milk on my bed-side table and turned red. I had forgotten about it. There it stood, cold and not delecious anymore. I guzzle it up anyway, without a second thought. My stomach was growling, after all. I smiled.
I went downstairs soon, and saw my mother walking down the hallway, all ready. She usually took a long tie to get ready. Had she been up before? Had she seen me? I shuddered at the thought, because if she did, I was ready for another awaiting lecture, explaining to me my restrictions as a Princess. It was one of the parts I so hated.
And there I was, with my mother in front of me. Only God knew if my destiny awaited a lecture or not. After all, I violated her rules. I sucked in a panickly breath, and smiled at her.


Part 3:

Continuation of Part 1a.

Every step by step, I inched closer to the song, and it became clearer and clearer. Somehow, its notes were beginning to take a different shape. It felt like a completely different song, and it was, I found out, after a thorough inspection of each of it’s aspects. Suddenly, I realised I’m alone. All alone. There could be anyone, anywhere. For the first few minutes, I told myself the growling was my imagination. But it’s presiceness, its detail, its reality all made me realise I was not imagining, and none of it was a dream. Not even how those golden notes felt uncomfortable and disturbing. But that was what fed my curiousity, making it grow and grow until I could not contain it anymore. My feet started moving at such a fast pace that I just could not keep track of where I was or where I was going.
To my surprise, it started raining. Cool drops fell everywhere, and the sky which I had thought—which I had known to be the clearest in ten years—was now clouded with a mast of thick gray clouds. I could barely see the moon anymore. And when, with creeping horror, I realised that it was raining everywhere except on me, everything I’d ever known about the truth of life slipped from my hands. I shivered in disbelief. Everything I had ever believed was a lie. I knew nothing except for dreaming fantasies.
A tear fell from my eyes, despite me meaning it to, and I quickly wiped it away. Instead of losing hope, I decided to search for the truth. The honest truth. Deciding to abandon everything I’d ever found hope in, anything I thought I’d believed was truly one of the hardest decisions I’ve had to take. Now, everywhere I went, I was protected from the rain, and I was sure I was safe. Or was I?
The gray clouds still hadn’t left the sky, which made me uneasy, and even concerned for the campers I’d left. I should’ve thought of them. Maybe they needed my help. And, even if I was not given much value among them, didn’t mean that I should be selfish and run away from the danger instead of choosing to help and actually being of help. Maybe….
Never mind. The past was the past, and it could not be altered. I could not choose to leave after coming this far, so I ran in the direction of the ever-changing music, which, oddly, felt close to the heart. Perhaps it seemed to run by my emotions. I decided to feel hopeful, to confirm if that was the case, but I could not feel those emotions at all. All I felt was grief and despair, for the failure I had become and the failure I had continued to become, and that was the theme of the music. Sad, slow, heartbreaking, just like my emotions.
I decided to follow the music, but it seemed to move farther and farther away. Was there a human carrying it away? Or perhaps an animal? Or perhaps it was one of those fantasies I had always kept faith in?
Anyhow, I managed to increase my pace, in an attempt to catch up to the moving music. Every step I took, it enlivened me, gave me a sort of a pleasure, and then the music changed. Quite somehow, I felt I knew the truth. I just needed to know the truth of what. I did not pause to look up, but I could still understand, I had the ability, I discovered later, to understand how the clouds were shifting, multiplying in size and number. Of course, the rain multipied just as the clouds did, and to my horror, some of it had started leaking through my protective barrier. The rain had become stronger, but my barrier had stayed the same, weak and brittle now to rages and power of the thundering rain that poured through it. The soft trickle of drops distracted me step my step as the leaking drops doubled with every step I took, and I began to feel wetter and wetter by the minute. According to the rate at which it was leaking, it would completely shatter my barrier and flood my face with a shower of raindrops, hence dampening my mission. I ran faster, as I could not bear to go through that predicament.
I ran so fast that my unstoppable panting took over me, and I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. The music, though, was tireless and kept on moving at the same pace, maybe even faster. When I resumed, it was already too far away, and still moving. I was baffled. Should I give up? That was the only thing I could do, except for tiring myself and flooding myself with a shower of raindrops for absolutely no fruit, sweet or bitter whatsoever, at all. I wished time would stop, that it would freeze, so I could move. Or maybe the music could stop moving and stay in one place. But none of those things happened. After all, reality was reality. A simple wish couldn’t solve anything, could it? Despite that, the movement of the music slowed heavily, and I walked step by step, slowly, trying to restore my energy.
I felt weak and broken, and the music followed suit. So I walked slowly. I was all alone, and there was no sound other than that of my footsteps and the rustling of the reeds and the soft flapping of the wind, and, of course the music, with its golden notes, which seemed to be fading and altering with every breath I took. Somehow, I limped, but faster, and with a ball of increasing energy I ran, and I could not stop laughing at this sudden peculiarity. Such a change of events had happened, despite being unfortunate, that I just couldn’t help it. I started, and couldn’t stop, laughing, and neither could I feel the increasing rain on my face. It was out of my league to understand such a phenomena. But when I passed the last bush, where I thought I’d be face to face with the music, a feeling of complete shock enveloped me.
It was a girl. What was so shocking about a girl? The most disturbing matter, though, was the fact that she had the same green eyes, the same golden hair….
It was another me.

daily 3/23/22 - 438 words

original piece: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/582424/?page=83#post-6129360
I really liked your story - it was really interesting to read! Since there wasn't much I had to critique (it was really well written), I decided to focus on some smaller details. You might want to consider making the part after Joanna figures out that Blaire can turn into a creature a little longer, or at least add some more context, as it feels a bit rushed when Joanna tries to make escape plans, which could cause the reader to be confused as to why she is so terrified. You could also maybe make the story more vivid by changing some of your verbs. For example, you use the word “said” (in one form or another) quite often, so you might want to try to change it to something else. Another quick thing is that after “else” in the second paragraph, I think you forgot closing quotation marks. Other than those small things though, I thought your story was super fun and different.

original piece: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/620102627
Firstly, I just wanted to say how much I loved the story - it had an amazing ending! I do have a couple general notes though, although these are mostly just a matter of opinion. (I was struggling to find things that I could critique - it was really good!) Overall, I think the story could be a bit better if you added a little more detail, especially at the end, because I kind of felt like that got a little skipped over, especially since it was such a great element of the story. I loved how you added little details in between though, like the book character name; it really gave a realistic feel to the story. I think adding some broader details though (as previously mentioned), could help the story flow better, but again, that’s more of a matter of personal preference. Next, it seemed as though the tenses kept changing, especially on the first page of the story; for example, you would be writing in present tense, then suddenly in past tense, and then back to present tense. I’m not sure if this was intentional or not - it seemed as though it could possibly have been, but I wasn’t completely sure, so I thought I would add a note about that. For me at least, it made the story, especially, again, the first page, more confusing and harder to read/understand. Now for a slightly smaller detail, I just felt like the sentence about the character “noting it down” changed the flow of the story a bit, since the “in my brain” part felt slightly unnecessary. Overall though, I thought the story was really good and an amazing read!

❊ Goose's Writing Comp. Entry ‒ March 2022 ❊

➙ welcome to my masquerade
an entry by @graceobrien13
( 1128 words )


A masquerade is not a party.

With guests hiding behind their masks, talking with concealed whispers, concealing their true identity for another, just for a night — that is not a party. That is a battle of wits, a congregation of riddles. Safety is unheard of, travesty conjured up from simple conversations. A masquerade holds desirability, however, which is why they are so frequently attended.


To a particular sprite, a particular pixie who laughs at cruelty and spite, a masquerade is nothing more than a play. It watches with glee and appreciation for the plot. It does not care what tragedy has befallen the actors. This is one of its plays.


Perched on a beam in the ceiling, the sprite is quite safe. If it inches over to one side, it can see the gallery, its desired viewing spot. The other side is the stage.


The show begins.


A lady is making her way to the side of the room. Her mask is a celebration of colours; a dark navy fading into a lustrous teal. A beak is set in the middle, golden with touches of silver, and an array of blue-green feathers envelop her cheekbones and hickory hair. She sets herself down at a seat on one of the furthest tables, sorting through her purse pragmatically. The sprite cannot see where she is looking.


“You shouldn’t have rush here so fast.” Her companion complains, dressed in his golden finery and disguised with a lion mask. “It’s impolite.”


“I don’t particularly care. You see, the host himself hasn’t even made an appearance, so a guest is capable of checking over the contents of her bag in peace.” He does not get the point. Instead, the lion-masked man slips down on the chair beside her and peers insistently over her shoulder until she snaps the bag shut.


“Why are we here, sweetheart?” The man persists. The sprite, the pixie, the host watches carefully from its beam until it senses a glowering stare. Then it moves on, bored, as these two do not provide enough amusement.


It is about to assess a child and their mother when a voice echoes throughout the ballroom, a masculine voice that matches the sound of warm chocolate trickling down a fall. “Welcome,” The man says, “To this masquerade. Unfortunately, our host has called in sick at the last moment, but he warned me, his associate, and insisted upon this event taking place. He apologises for not being present.” He has a sequined tiger mask and two gloves, black and red. “Let the masquerade commence!”


The guests return to idle chatter, and for a while the sprite cannot identify a youth in the throng.


Fortunately enough, it soon detects them when the tiger-man approaches. The child is alone, alert, in a similar place to the peacock-woman. They send suspicious glances all around them and keep a safe distance from their mother’s vicinity, it seems. When in realisation that the replacement host is near, they take a couple of steps backwards. The slits in the child’s mask provide enough of their expression; pure, but uneasy. Disagreeable.


“Hello, child, what brings you here?”

“My mother.”

“I did not ask who, my apologies.”

“Ah, the invitation.”

The sprite could detect a storm brewing near the tiger-man, but his external face is all smiles. The child looks as terrified as ever. They are smart, the sprite realises. They are not backing down. They know to be scared.

“Well, then, little child, your mother must be lucky to have you and your answers for all life’s difficult questions.”

They know how to detect sarcasm. “She doesn’t think the same.”

“Oh?”

They continue, growing faster as they talk. “She doesn’t care for kids. She reminds me that a lot. She reminds me that I’m lucky that she’s stuck with me, so she takes care of me so well. She is an excellent mother, when not concerning affection. She brought me to a masquerade, after all!”

“You have a high opinion of her.”

The child is unusually grave. “I have to, don’t I?”


But when hailed by their mother, the sprite loses all investment in the child when they scurry off without even saying goodbye. For all their common sense, they lack in all the areas a child lacks in; true obedience, being one. It does not hear what the mother says to her child, but it is not pleasant.


The sprite diverts its attention to a lone character, a lady with a hare mask. It does not have much reason. After the burning admittance of the child’s stupidity, it is hostile. The hare is quick, devious and sly, in a way— which means the lady wearing the mask is a spy. That is certain.

The spy is trotting over to the couple.


The peacock mask is firmly in place on the woman’s face. In comparison to her hair, her skin is pale and bleak, as if she is frightened. Her companion has his mask pulled high so it shows his eyes as golden as the mask. They both ignore the spy.


“I don’t trust you.” The peacock-lady says, as if it is a fact.

“But I do.” He insists.

“That doesn’t make a difference.”

“No, no—" How gullible he is. The sprite rolls its eyes for her. How much trust has been placed has been placed in this woman, so eager to desert. “But I do trust you!”

“You’re a lovely acquaintance, but intimacy is not my way of doing— this.”

“This?”

“Whatever this is.”

“Love.” He puts gently. That is why she is scared. How interesting.


The hare-masked woman, seeing an interval in the conversation, swoops in.

“Have any troubles?” She chirps, to which they both reply with different movements.

“You look awfully pale,” She tells the lady, who manages to nod weakly.

“Care for me to escort you somewhere private for you to recover?”

A second nod follows, and the peacock-masked lady is shown with clarity to where an empty room lies, just beyond the threshold of the ballroom. On the way, the sprite notices, the spy stops, apologises, and takes off in another direction towards the child’s mother. Determination marks her face. The peacock-lady, glancing around in bewilderment, ducks though the doorway.

She does not return.


“Mother?” The child mumbles, looking up past her shoulder. “That lady’s been gone awhile.”

The tiger-man is moving swiftly throughout the crowd, reassuring them with empty words.

The lion-masked man has given up serenity, and is pacing up and down the room, mask discarded beside him.

The spy is nowhere to be found.

“Mother,” They tug her sleeve, “I know—“


What an interesting plot, such a well-thought-out cast. The sprite can barely wait for the next act.

Main cabin daily for March 23 writing excerpt for critique:



Jedi Knight Laer Krenn was meditating while sitting on the floor of the guest room in Theed Royal Palace.
The Force was at peace, and it had been for a few centuries. Laer was thankful for that, as it hadn’t been peaceful since before the High Republic. Well, there had been times between the High Republic and the times of the First Order when the Force was at peace, but it didn’t stay that way for long.
Laer was visiting his cousin, Norele Thessalana, Queen of Naboo. During his stay, he had experienced a strange vision of some unknown humanoid species traveling in space. Through meditating, he was hoping to discover what it meant.
So far, he was unsuccessful as the Force showed him nothing. It remained a mystery.
Suddenly, Laer had a vision: the same strange spaceship was going to Naboo, which was unusual.
He opened his eyes slowly and stood up. Earlier, he had told Norele that he would tell her about his meditative experience. He walked out of his room, and up the staircase to the level of the Queen’s apartment. A few Royal Security Forces guards stood in front of the door.
“I need to see Her Highness,” Laer told the guards.
A guard knocked on the door, it opened and a Royal Handmaiden poked her head out. “The Queen is busy right now, but she will be available shortly.”
Laer nodded, and waited patiently.
Five minutes later, the handmaiden let the Jedi inside.
He walked in, did a short bow and greeted the Queen, who was seated on a couch in the sitting room with her handmaidens surrounding her.
Queen Thessalana laughed and said, “Laer, you’re my cousin, and my friend. There’s no need to do that in private.” Her voice turned serious. “Did you find out anything else?”
Laer said, “No, but I had another vision of the same humanoid aliens. They came here, to Naboo, but the Force is telling me that they won’t come for a while—probably a year, or even a year and a half,” he added hastily.
The Queen’s face showed no reaction at all. “We do not know who they are, so if they do arrive here, we need to be prepared for anything they might want from us, the Gungans, or the planet. Stingré? Please go tell Captain Susset that we need to be prepared for intruders in a year’s time—but we need to stay prepared for a couple years, not just a few weeks.”
The handmaiden silently exited the apartment.
“Thank you for your time, Nor.” Laer inclined his head slightly, then turned on his heel and exited the apartment.
Once the door was shut, the Queen said to her remaining handmaidens, “I hope those strange humans don’t invade our planet, as Naboo is our home and the Gungans’ home. But if they do attempt an invasion, I know that all of you will defend our home. If they do invade, Aquwé, you will probably be needed to double as the Queen.”
A human with short, sky blue hair poking out of their hood nodded loyally to their friend and Queen.

Critique for @Tennesseeangirl 's excerpt.

“CREAK”, suddenly a shadow was spotted sprinting from the door of the O’Connor’s house. The police sirens wailed, you could hear the briskness of the cars. The police ran inside searching for a victim, but all they found was a body on the floor. The police carried the body outside, while others were inspecting the scene of the crime. Only three people were found as suspects, Leisl, Mack, and Aaron O’Connor.
Little did they know, the murderer was long from the O'Connor's house. In fact, at this very moment, though they didn’t know, far away the killer had struck again.

First, I'd like to say that I love the suspense. I don't know if it's just me, but it feels suspenseful like a murder mystery should. My grammatical corrections are as follows: I would put a period instead of a comma after “ ”CREAK“ ” and start “Suddenly a shadow…” as a new sentence. Adding a comma after the “Suddenly” would help with suspense. Also, I would put an “and” following “The police sirens wailed,”. I think it flows better. A colon would work after “found as suspects,” instead of the comma, but the comma's fine too. (Just to be clear, you don't have to accept any or all of my suggestions. Change only the ones you want ) I like how you started it, with the shadow sprinting from the house. It really pulled me in, and gave the idea that something bad had happened in the O'Connor's house. The murderer is very suspicious, since they were able to leave the site of the crime very quickly, and managed to strike again very far away. That was also very intriguing, and left me wondering who this murderer is and why they're murdering people. I think you should continue this story if you want to. You’re good at writing the mystery genre. Usually, when somebody is murdered, the police don’t move the body until after inspecting the scene. I think. Then they move the body and try to figure out how the person got k!lled. That’s a minor point though. You can leave it as it is, if you want. Maybe you should add where the three suspects were found when the police arrived. Perhaps one of them could’ve been in a place near the scene of the crime and appear to have been invovled in the murder. Another idea could be that all three suspects were nowhere near the scene until they heard an indication that someone had been hurt, and then came to the scene of the crime to find a dead body. I think you can really expand your excerpt while not adding more to the story, but just expanding on the details. I understand that it was for a 100-word daily, but if you want to continue the story, then it would be a good idea to expand on some of the points. Overall, it is written well, being very intriguing, and I highly suggest that you continue the story. I’d really love to read the rest if you do continue it!

This was a daily for sometime, don't remember when, but the fanfic one?? I chose Percabeth, a classic <3

Jacob George - Anna's mine !

I grinned. Time to show Goode High who was boss. Let me back up; my name is Jacob George, and I'm currently “fighting” with Percy Jackson, the most famous guy in our school. Well, I'm fighting. I don't really know about him. What I do know is that whenever some girl asks him out, he's all like “You seem like a really nice person, but I already have a girlfriend, so I'm sorry.” He is SO making up that girlfriend. There is /no/ way a loser like him could catch the eye of a … goddess like her. Percy even keeps a picture of her in his locker; he's /such/ a pervert!

 Back to reality! We're doing this unit in PE about “Self-defense”. I just KNOW that I can beat Percy! And guess what? We're in different brackets, so if we both win all of the games, we'll play each other. I'm kinda voting for him… NOOO, not for that reason! I just want to play against him!

 I'm staring at him now, by the way. He's writing a note to his “Annie”, which I'm guessing is his girlfriend? He's called her Annabeth before, though. This is what it says: (he's not even trying to keep it secret!)

  Wise Girl,
    I miss you so much!! Luckily we have school break soon, so I get to visit camp,
   and then you come to Goode! We're also doing this self-defense unit in PE??? You
   think I'll get first?
   - p <3
 Okay, like ew??????????!?!? He's also just SOO narcissistic! Come on! “Think I'll get first?” Haven't met me yet, Percy. I'll beat the sass out of you!

 I'd just won the 13 games, and I was doing well. I heard some girls squealing about how Percy also had a 13 streak. /Looks like Percy won. YESS, I get to BEAT the h3ll out of him!/

We were given gloves to protect our fingers, but that was it. Percy's hand flew to his pocket, but quickly pulled away and he just stood there.
 “Arghhhhhhhh!” I charged straight at him. He just stepped aside. I paused, dizzy. This technique had helped me beat literally everyone else?? Percy jumped up, and as he fell, he extended his arms… and brought me to the ground. He kicked me once, and whispered,

 “You thought you could win? No way am I letting Annabeth see me defeated.”

 “Percy Jackson; winner!” I couldn't believe my ears. One, Annabeth was coming?? Two, Percy had won? The Percy-winning part was less disappointing. And now, I knew what I'd do; I could break them apart!

 Annabeth was your typical California blonde, except for her eyes, which were gray.

 “Yo, babe!” I waltzed over, just as she was exited the car. “Been a while? How you doing? Wanna hop to the bed again tonight?” I winked, and rested my arm around her waist. I saw her roll her eyes, “Oh, you want to take public lightly in the beginning again?” I asked.

 She smacked my arm away. “If you want to touch me, I suggest not in front of my boyfriend- and I wasn't with /you/ last night, it was Percy.” She dislodged her arm roughly and gave Percy a quick kiss on the cheek. “Besides, I'm not interested in you- maybe go after those who are?” She gestured with her head at a group of girls gazing at me star-eyed. I turned around to look, then back quickly. But in that short period of time, they had disappeared.

hope you enjoyed <3

March 23, 2022- Main Cabin Daily
I wrote a critique for GraceOBrien13's story, Welcome to the masquerade
The beginning is very intruging. The way it talks about riddles and wits and hiding identity, it makes me see the colors red and black, like a mystery theatre thing. The first line immediently hooks my attention. When I read it, I want to know why a masquerade isn't a party and what uou mean by that. The line “a particular pixie who laughs at cruelty and spite” makes it sound like the pixies doesn't care about the misfortunes at befall on itself but I don't think that's quite what you meant to say. But the next few lines clear up the confusion. It sounds like this is a theatre show that the host is putting on. I love your details, the description of the mask shows clearly in my mind like it's real. I'm not quite sure what you mean by “the sprite cannot see where she is looking”. I think you mean “the sprite cannot see what she is looking for” but maybe I'm wrong, I don't know. I like how you used present tense for this story. It really works and creates an air of mystery and intrigue, like something bad is about to happen but no one knows. The description of the child and the way they are keeping away from their mother is intriguing as well. The way you wrote this story, you provide enough details for me to know what's going on, but not too much so I'm missing some parts of the story that makes that air of mystery. Your description of what's happening is really good. The spy is very interesting. I also find it intereting how everyone notices when someone doesn't return. I sometimes can't tell quite what's happening but that's what makes the story so interesting. I can't find anything that could be improved upon. Very noice job! I know I keep saying the word “intriguing” but all of these characters are seriously really intriguing? Why does the Sprite see everything as a play? Why is it not showing itself at the masquerade? Why does the child act like that? What’s the relationship between the child and the mother? What about the lady and the man who loves her? I’m beginning to see the relationship between all of these characters. The way you wrote this story makes me think that perhaps this story is about people having issues with each other and the sprite watching it all and enjoying it like a play.

Weekly #3!!

Part One - I attended a live concert tonight so I've taken my inspiration from two pieces I heard there (not sure of the names, sorry!)

I have been planning out our senior leaving party for months now, so it kind of has to be perfect. It’s being held the day before our official graduation, and I’m the heaad of the planning committee. Obviously there are other people on the committee, but I’m leading, so I had the final say on decisions and things like that.

Anyway, that’s just a little background information, because tonight is the night of the party, adn I’m stressed as hell. It’s supposed to be a night to let our hair down and have some fun, but for me, I’m trying really hard not to bite my nails (I painted them yesterday, and I don’t think the polish is safe to eat) or fidget with my hair (it’s in an updo). This has to go off smoothly - we’ve had our exams, we have our results, now it’s time to just let go a bit, and we all really deserve this one night of fun. So. You know. No pressure.

People start arriving, and immediately the music starts playing. (Oh, thank God for Sadie, really. She’s the only reason I’m still sane, planning this party. She’s also on the planning committee and she’s probably the only person there with a level head and an ounce of common sense. She’s also taken a lot of responsibility off my shoulders - including the music.)

The music starts off as popular songs - things that are on the charts right now. Think Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo, Dua Lipa, Lil Nas X, The Weeknd - all of that. Later in the night, it’ll change to slow songs - classical piano music, encouraging people to dance with each other.

That’s when things really start to get interesting, of course. People start dancing in couples, and I’m standing against the wall with Sadie, the two of us commenting on how our classmates have paired up. People we’ve always thought were probably going to end up together, and people we never would have predicted would become a couple.

Then Sadie holds out her hand to me. “Will you dance?” she asks, and I blink a couple of times before it sinks in.

“I-”

“You’ve worked so, so hard planning this whole thing. You deserve to just dance and have a nice time just as much as anybody else here.”

I take her hand and let her lead me out onto the dance floor.

Being a circus ringmaster - or ringmistress? I’m never quite sure - is hard work all the time. But it’s never quite so hard as it is when something goes wrong.

But let’s go backwards. It’s the night of a show - just a normal, ordinary show. Nothing we haven’t done a million times before. But tonight, as our magnificent horsewoman, Alissa, canters around the ring, her horse trips on an apple core thrown by a spectator. The horse stumbles, and Alissa lets out a piercing scream as she tumbles to the ground.

The audience lets out a collective gasp, and I rush onto the stage, radioing for first aid. The first thing I notice is how bad Alissa’s injury looks - I take my radio and say: “Actually, forget the first aid kit. Call a paramedic.”

The second thing I notice is the apple core. Now, I’ve been a ringmaster for twenty years. I know a deliberate act of sabotage when I see one, and this reeks of sabotage. I quickly radio security, letting them know to block the exits. I don’t want the saboteur to be able to leave the circus. Not yet, anway.

I stay by Alissa’s side, reassuring her that she and her horse will both be okay. The horse doesn’t look injured; Alissa’s assistant has his reins and is making sure he doesn’t bolt.

When the paramedics arrive and take Alissa backstage on a stretcher to look at her injuries, I pick up the apple core before standing up.

“Who threw this?” I ask loudly, my voice amplified by the headset mic I’m wearing. (I normally keep it switched off during shows, but this is a special occasion, clearly.)

Nobody owns up, but I can see a few people looking twitchy.

“Well, nobody is leaving this tent until the culprit is found,” I say, aware that I sound like a schoolteacher, but really - this could be an attempted murder case.

You see, before I was a circus ringmaster, I was a private investigator. I know how this stuff works, and I know how to crack a case wide open.

I head backstage to check on Alissa. The paramedics reassure me that she’s okay - her injuries will heal - and I go to the ticket office to get a list of everybody who attended tonight’s show.

Next, I find Alissa’s assistant, who also happens to be her wife’s sister. I need to find out who at this show had a grudge against Alissa.

Who could possibly have wanted Alissa, the sweetest, most friendly person I have ever known, dead?

Part Two - I took inspiration from The Owl House and specifically the magical school!

I walk through the doors of the school. Today is my orientation day before I properly start to study magic, and I'm some kind of odd blend of hugely excited and absolutely terrified.

The second I step into the main hall, I am greeted by a girl who looks a little bit older than me. She's tall and seems full of energy, with blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and a wide, beaming smile.

“Hi! You must be one of the new kids!” she says. (Way too energetic for nine in the morning on a Monday.)

“Lili,” I say. “Yeah, I'm new.”

“Oh my gosh, it's so nice to meet you, Lili! I'm Ruby and I'll be your student guide for the next two weeks. I know it can be strange, coming to a new school, but I'm here to help you and make sure your transition is as smooth as possible.”

I'm not quite sure what to say, but luckily for me, Ruby seems to have enough words for the both of us.

“So basically I'll be showing you around for the first hour, then you go to your tutor group for the rest of the day for admin stuff, like getting you registered and so on, you’ll get your code which lets you buy lunch and book classrooms if you want to do experiments, you’ll have some magic exams, just testing whether you already know anything, but it's not a problem if you don't because most people don't, and they'll find out what colour your magic is because everybody has a different colour and you'll get given your timetable - for the first three years you study all kinds of magic and then you get to specialise later. Got that?” she says, talking at about a million miles per hour.

I pause, stunned. “Um… I guess.”

She beams at me again - actually, now that I think about it, she never stopped smiling while she was talking, which is a bit scary - and starts walking as I trail behind.

As we walk, she is still somehow talking non-stop, giving me a stream-of-consciousness explanation of what each and every building of the school is for, and even her thoughts about each teacher.

The school is composed of too many buildings to count - Ruby explains that each building represents a different area of magic.

“So the A building is just for tutor group which is why it's the one that has the least explosions, although actually it doesn’t, that would be the history building-”

(Are explosions really so common at this school that Ruby can just casually drop this fact into conversation? Well, I suppose it's good for me to have a realistic idea of what life here will be like.)

“-and so your tutor group is basically about twelve kids so it’s all really nice and chill and you usually become really good friends with the other kids in your tutor group but you might specialise in different things once you get to fourth year.”

We move on to the B building.

“So this is plant magic which is one of the three components of nature magic. The C building is animal magic and D is weather.”

We keep walking.

“The E building is craft magic and yes that’s really broad because it can be stuff like drawing or painting or making three dimensional things or even cooking but not potions because that’s a building of its own.”

“What’s the difference between cooking and potions?” I ask nervously.

“Well cooking uses normal ingredients but you add in magic with sigils or with an incantation, and potions are different ‘cause they use magical ingredients from the start, although most potions usually have one non-magical ingredient, but they all have at least one ingredient that’s actually magical,” Ruby answers. She barely has to think before launching into her response, which is actually pretty impressive. She must really know her stuff.

We keep walking - Ruby is really fast, and I have to struggle a bit to keep up with her. As we walk, we see the following buildings:
- Potions, which apparently has the most explosions
- Telepathy
- Teleportation
- History (one of two buildings entirely dedicated to theory)
- Elemental magic (which seems like five separate buildings to me, but Ruby insists that they’re all connected through a secret tunnel network)
- Ceremonial magic (restricted to fifth-years and above)
- Attack magic (ditto)
- Healing
- Illusions and Shape-Shifting
- Magical Languages (the second theory-only building)
- Celestial magic (which is apparently anything to do with planets, the moon, sun, or stars)
- Magical Objects (powerful magical artefacts, as well as wands and staffs)
- Time magic
- and Divination.

Part Three! I chose to continue my story from part 2, using the (slightly cynical) idea/theme that “even if our world was magical, everything would still stay mostly the same”

Ruby keeps up her non-stop chatter, telling me about exactly which classes take place within each building and which are her favourite, her plans for next year (she’s a third-year and wants to specialise in craft magic) and those of her friends, and which teachers let you mess around or experiment, and which are strict about sticking to the rules.

Other pairs of new students and mentors are milling around, presumably being told similar things as I am (just with maybe fewer run-on sentences and personal anecdotes).

Eventually, after seeing all twenty buildings, Ruby realises that it’s definitely been an hour (and all the others are starting to head back to the A building) and that she probably needs to take me to my tutor group. She leaves me at the door to the building, telling me which room I need to go to (room A03), waving goodbye cheerfully, and I square my shoulders and walk in, trying to act more confident than I feel.

I arrive at the door to room A03, where a queue has already started to form in front of the door. There’s about five students already there, which is good. Ruby said twelve students to a tutor group, so I’m neither late nor early. The teacher arrives after a few more students have joined the line and unlocks the door by summoning a key from thin air. There are a few impressed glances exchanged as we walk into the classroom.

Our tutor introduces herself as Ms Spellthorne, and tells us to sit down in any seat we want and then we’ll go around and introduce ourselves with our names. There are three tables, each of which has four seats.

I take a mental note of the names of the other eleven students in my class - the three other girls sat on my table are Dorothea, Estelle, and Indigo, and the others are Tamara, Jadis, Morrigan, Lavinia, Mae, Sabrina, Astrid, and Emerald - and then introduce myself.

My tutor checks us all off on her register, and then tells us to talk amongst ourselves while she hands out our notebooks. I look at Dorothea, Estelle, and Indigo, and there’s a slight awkward silence as everybody tries to work out how sociable to be.

Estelle is first to speak on our table.

“So I’m Estelle, obviously, and…” she trails off, not quite sure how to continue now that she’s started a conversation.

“I’m Dorothea, and you two must be Indigo and Lili?” says Dorothea, taking the reins. The two of us nod, and she continues. “I’m really excited for this, honestly. Like, learning magic is going to be amazing.”

I grin at her. “I know, right?”

Our conversation is cut short as Ms Spellthorne clears her throat, waiting for our attention.

“Quick overview of the day - we’re going to look at the notebooks I’ve just passed out, then I’ll want to talk to you each individually and just assess how much magic you know already. Then you’ll get to find out what colour your magic is, and get given your code. Your code is personal to you and will allow you to buy lunch and snacks, and book rooms for personal study, et cetera - I’ll explain that more later. Once that’s done, you can go and have lunch, and after lunch, you’ll be doing a scavenger hunt all around the school just to familiarize yourself with the layout of each building - your mentors will be helping you out with that. Any questions?”

Nobody raises their hand, so she moves on. “Can everybody please get out your stationery, and look at the notebooks I’ve handed out?”

We all do as she instucts. The notebooks have the school logo on a blank white background on the front cover, with a space for a name.

“Once you have found out the colour of your magic, the covers will fill in with that colour. In the meantime, you can write your full name on the cover.”

Again, we all follow the instructions.

She goes on to explain that our notebooks will be where we can keep track of assignments and any meetings or activities that we have to attend. There’s a map inside, and on the back cover, there’s a blank timetable that she says we will fill in later. There’s also a whole section for us to write in any miscellaneous notes, and each building has a page giving a brief description of what subjects are covered in that building. There’s a few pages dedicated to extra-curricular activities that are available, some more about awards people can win, and some more that just talk about the prefects team, uniform rules, and homework policy.

She goes through each page individually, and I suppose it should be boring, but it’s actually really interesting.

“Okay! You’ll get your timetables after your learning conversations, since we want to find out whether you guys know any magic already. There’s absolutely no pressure or expectations here, most first-year students don’t know any magic at all and that’s perfectly fine. I’ll speak to each of you individually and in alphabetical order, and meanwhile, the rest of you can get to know each other.”

My last name is near the end of the alphabet, so I think I’ll probably be one of the last students to get pulled out for this learning conversation. Tamara is first to go, and I turn to the other three girls on my table, grinning. “Isn’t this really cool?”

Dorothea nods. “Yeah! So what are you guys most excited for? My mentor is in fourth year and she specialised in weather magic and that sounds really cool, but I also like the sound of magical languages.”

“My mentor is doing ceremonial magic,” Indigo says. “It sounds super interesting but you have to be in fifth year before you can start studying it.”

“Mine’s in third year but she says she wants to specialise in craft magic,” I say. “I love the sound of the history classes, though.”

“I can’t wait for shape-shifting,” Estelle says, smiling. “I love the idea of being able to change your appearance at will.”

Honestly, I’m just excited for every class. This is going to be so much fun.

Hi! I think you did a nice job on this!

One thing that you did that I liked is your character's voice. It's definitely very distinct. I did like that and I think you have a good writing voice. I definitely used to love Percy Jackson.

I'm assuming this was intentional, but your character definitely isn't liked. I mean, just his arrogance and his actions. Most of the time authors try to create a likeable character. I think it's interesting that you decided to write from the perspective of creating a character that isn't particularly likeable- if you were going to turn this into a longer piece, I would recommend creating something that the audience could relate to/enjoy in the character, otherwise they may not read to the end. But with a shorter piece, creating an unlikeable character is fine.

One thing I would change- and I know this sounds weird, but it actually makes a difference and will make your writing seem more professional- is not to use as many explanation points (unless it's dialogue.) I know, it sounds strange, but publishers are actually less likely to publish things that use a lot of explanation marks.

Also, I'm a little bit confused by this: “She gestured with her head at a group of girls gazing at me star-eyed. I turned around to look, then back quickly. But in that short period of time, they had disappeared.” Is “they” the girls or Annabeth? I suggest you change this to the name- sometimes pronouns can be kind of confusing.

If this is the whole piece, I would also recommend writing a rounder end. Most of the time with endings, it ends after the main character either gets what they want or they don't get what they want (or after they deal with not getting what they want.) If Annabeth was what the main character had wanted, this would make sense, but I think he's more focused on upsetting Percy. (Endings also tend to end with some sort of character development.) Does he learn that Percy's not that bad? Does he finally get what he wants, and defeat Percy? One thing you can do is end with a similar way you started, this creates a round ending. For example, at the beginning he grins, so you could have him grin again in the last sentence or something.

Overall, nice job! I'd like to see what you write next!

Fire - Writing comp entry - Myth - 419 words
The smell of smoke rose to my nose. I shifted in my sleep, not knowing what was happening. My mind kept replaying the nightmares haunting me ever since last year.
That was when my life was unexpectedly turned upside down.
That… was when my family…
It was brutal to hear their voices shouting to me, ringing in my ears. I fidgeted with the scar on my face in my sleep.
The burn scar was a painful reminder of what happened. There were also scars all across my legs and arms. I was trying to save them. But I only could watch as they burned.
My whole life, I was afraid of fire. This accident made me fear it even more.
There was something about fire that I couldn't quite describe. Maybe it was the way it moved. Or how menacing it looked.
Or it was the fact that it could burn and k!ll someone.
I had just barely escaped it, jumping out the window and waking the whole neighborhood before breaking down in tears.
Now I'm in this orphanage. I wish I wasn't.
I knew what I should've done.
But I didn't.
This memory crept after me all day, every day. It was always worse at night, the memory playing back in full volume with extremely clear graphics. I haven't had a peaceful night of sleep since then.
The smoke smell lingered in my nose and I thought it was part of the dream.
Fire flashed in my eyelids. That was not normal.
Was something happening?
The screams somehow became louder. Different. I couldn't pull myself out of the nightmare.
Or… was it a nightmare anymore?
I forced my eyes open.
There was a fire.
I jerked back, so frightened and shocked.
The orphanage was on fire.
I did the first thing I could think of.
Scream. As loud as I could.
People heard me.
But the fire was spreading fast.
My heart was pumping in my ears.
People were calling my name.
But I couldn't.
Wouldn't.
Shouldn't.
The flashbacks started.
I watched as my family burned.
I couldn't move.
The fire reached me, burning my skin as I closed my eyes.
This feeling was familiar.
I sank into it.
Not that I could escape.
It was painful.
I'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadie
My last thought was, I'm going to see them again.
Then a strong pair of hands pulled me out.
Everything faded to black.
Pain faded.
I couldn't feel anything.
I was glad about it.
Was I even alive…?

My critique of @26friedland 's story.
Ahh! That story is so good! It’s really mysterious and mystical. I have trouble critiquing because I feel like it’s mean to say things that weren’t so good, but I’ll give it a try, and I know it’s not just negative things mentioned in critique, too.
Anyways, let’s get started. So, I can’t find much to say, but the ending kind of seemed rushed (I would know, most of mine are.) maybe you have more of it though, and this is just the excerpt. (That’s probably the case.) Anyways, I would love to read the full story if this isn’t it.
You have a lot of description in there, but it’s mixed in with action, which makes it fun to read. It’s almost a poem. Sometimes I just skip over the long descriptions (don’t tell) but I didn’t feel the need to skip any parts in yours.
Oh my gosh, I know I need more words… This writing just makes me so curious. Who is the girl? What is the Glade? I have so many questions swimming in my mind. (They should move up to the fast lane.) When I write, my dad says to reveal things slower, no information overload, and this piece of writing gives no information overload, but it might be nice, if this is not an excerpt, to eventually reveal these things.
I felt like I was watching that girl, “skipping and spinning” with her. This writing really made me feel what she was feeling, and that’s a powerful, important feeling that a writer wants to inflict.
This writing, as I mentioned before, has a poetic feel to it, a light, airy, little-girl feel too. I can infer everything I need to know about the girl, and you didn’t even describe her (much) you can read her every move.
This story may have been a little over flowery, and even though I said I didn’t skip it, which I didn’t, it could be a little less descriptive. I know that this was meant to be a descriptive, poetic piece, but, yeah. You get it. You also probably get my stress because I don’t have enough words but I don’t have anything else to talk about.
Your writing was great, and you should probably be a published author. It just seems like the kind of thing you would open a book and find.
Thank you for taking the time to read my critique, and I have enough words now so I best be off!

~Badowie's Weekly - Weekly #3 - Taking Inspiration

~for mystery - 2616 words

Part 1 - Taking inspiration from music
Words (from both stories): 817
Song 1: Time Leaper by Hinkik
I stand on the edge of the mountain, looking out over the clouds and over all I have accomplished. The call of the clouds and the future still rushes in my ears, but for the first time since I began this climb I relax, looking out into the endless abyss of possibility. I think of all I have done along the way; the people I’ve met, the places I’ve gone. But looking down into this abyss, I sigh as I realize also what I have missed. What I lost in the scramble to always reach the top.
I stretch out my arms once more, taking in the wind, the air, the fresh rock at my feet. And I jump. Soaring through the new unknown, I feel new life seeping into me. All that I have missed, all the experiences I’ve lost, gathering right now in my body and my heart. I reach a cloud, and those emotions explode, bathing me in an aura of joy, excitement, and music over that time that I spent yet did not spend, those feelings that I felt but ignored in the race to the peak. Why was I ever up there in the first place, when there was so much to feel, I wonder as I continue flying. Why did the being at the top even matter?
I glide, sometimes focusing intently on my surroundings and sometimes simply closing my eyes and listening to the rushing wind and the faint chimes of time and laughter. The bottom is now in sight, and all those people I saw on the way are now right there in front of me, tangible, waving as I descend. It’s no longer a half-truth. They are there; those people, those emotions, those experiences. “Welcome back,” they say. “Welcome. Things have changed, but you’ll be just fine. Look around.”
I look. Mostly, I see the same things that were there before I left. There are a few changes, but like they said, nothing that matters too much to me. And then I turn around, and I see the edge. The cliff, the abyss, all of it resembles the same position I was in at the very beginning. “What?” I ask. “I thought this was the end! This wasn’t here before!”
“It always has been here,” they reply to me calmly. “You could simply never see it before. This journey has opened your eyes. Now jump. There is so much out there you can discover.”

Song 2: Something Different by Derpcat and Tailure
The light wind blows through the window as my train glides lightly along the perfect, intricate tracks. Once in a while, it will hit a bump, or go under a small tunnel, but nothing major happened-until now. I feel a sudden pick up in the wind. The train speeds up, and although it is still going smoothly for now I know something is not right. As I look out the window, I see a sharp turn up ahead. The sky grows dark. The train starts to bump. A bell tolls in the distance, ominously announcing the start of a new part in this journey. Then, it hits the curve. It turns, and I am thrown to the side as the lights go out, and another bell sounds.
And from there, everything goes downhill. The lights continue flickering as the train moves violently from side to side. At one point, the lights are on long enough for me to see it entering a narrow, dark tunnel. They flash again, and I see a tall, ominous wall that is getting closer every second. Closing in. Lights flashing. Bells sounding. The wall seems to come alive as the front of the train finally smashes against it. I close my eyes, waiting for the collapse. The pain. The end. A minute passes, then another. Eventually, I open my eyes, finding myself in complete darkness and silence.
“That was it? Everything? All that buildup…all I went through…for this? This darkness?” I try to move, to stomp, to express my feelings in some way, but I can’t, so I just stand and wait. Countless minutes pass and still the darkness does not change. “Hello? Anyone? Please.” But still just darkness.
“Come on. Anything. Just one sign.” I close my eyes, waiting. Something has to change eventually. I try to accept the silence and darkness, hoping that will change. Time passes, but time does not matter in this place, whatever it is. I try keeping track of the time at first, but I soon cannot remember even that, losing my last grip on any reality.
“Hello? Anyone? Please.”
“Huh…” I mumble after an seemingly infinite amount of time, responding to the ethereal voice.
“Come on. Anything. Just one sign…”
“That was…me. Right before I went silent… hello? Are you still there? Listen to me!”
“Hello? Anyone? Please.” Another slightly different voice speaks the same words.
“Come on. Anything. Just one sign…”


Part 2 - Taking inspiration from other things
Words: 717
Inspiration: Trees and lawn
(I really hope something like this is allowed, isn't exactly like a story)
Tiltra is a large planet around three times the size of Earth or Ajet consisting mostly of water with several small continents of green and yellow vegetation. The oceans are relatively shallow, and islands are constantly being created and destroyed due to the abundance of volcanoes and earthquakes. However, what sets Tiltra apart the most from other planets is the towering masses of wood, stone, and crystal that are locally called Trees. Their height can range from anywhere between twenty to a hundred and twenty miles high, and each one is home to its own unique, diverse microclimate. Overall, life in Tiltra’s Trees makes up 76% of life on the whole planet.
Humanity first evolved on Tiltra anywhere from five to three million years ago, and are believed to have originated not from any Tree but on a set of islands that no longer exist. As the climate shifted around two million years ago and the islands began to shrink, people slowly began to migrate towards several different Trees as the islands that connected them disappeared completely and they became separated for the millenia to come. Over that time, they were forced to adapt to the strange environment of the Tiltran Trees, and soon both their origins on the islands and their similarities to other groups of humans on different Trees were barely visible.
The Tree ending up with the largest population was Ingra Tree, which is about seventy miles tall and had a human population of ~10,000 twenty thousand years ago. It is known for the extensive tunnel systems, both natural and man-made, that exist beneath the forested surface. Humans took advantage of these early on, and built several settlements. As they continued to advance, those simple settlements turned into villages, and some villages would come together to create cities, and some of those cities would unite and create a faction. Like humans do, these factions started to fight, and the trees which looked so big began to feel small and cramped as borders were drawn. The earliest known true civilization in Ingra was known as Onvara, and lived around the very bottom of the Tree. They built ports and floating buildings along the very edge, providing many advantages such as the food the water provided, the use of boats (both for war and commerce), and the free space. Onvara still exists in some way today as Vona, and modern-day Vonans still use the same techniques developed by the ancient Onvarans.
Another modern-day civilization in Ingra Tree is Iocar, located close to the very top of the formation. Over the years Iocas have adapted to the very low oxygen levels so high up, and that along with their intricate terraces used both for war and for enjoyment provides them with an advantage possibly as great as that of Onvara and Vona. Located in the middle of the tree is the empire of Scucro, which has both the largest part of Ingra Tree and the largest military force (although both are still relatively small compared to other worlds). Scucrans, who do not have access to the ocean at the bottom of the Tree or the open space at the top, have to make do with its tunnel systems, and have turned their portion of the tree into one large, constantly-shifting, city with an enclosed fortress at the center. Some have also experimented with building platforms on the outside of the Tree, but most prefer to stick to the tunnel systems that are both comfortable and provide good protection.
Although about half the humans on Tiltra live on or around Ingra Tree, there are also many smaller Trees and even other islands that people have found their way to. One of these is Clopta Tree, a small, tilted Tree covered in ivy and tall grass and surrounded by several small islands. The people of Clopta Tree and its surroundings are mostly united and are separated into small nomadic groups that travel through the islands and the Tree. On the top of the Tree is their only real permanent dwelling: A tall stone fortress at its highest point, built during a time when Clopta was truly united. Although the people of the islands are relatively peaceful, there is regular fighting between the groups over the possession of the fortress.


Part 3: Implementing themes
Theme: Change and adventure and how different people view them
(Continuation of Time Leaper story from part 1)
Words:1082
“Come on. Go on. There’s so much to discover.” She beckons eagerly to me from the edge of the cliff. I nod, but hesitate. In my heart, I can’t simply…leave. Abandon everything again. “I- I can’t,” I reply. “I can’t just leave. I just got here. There is so much to discover…right here.”
“What would some adventure do?” She says to me, “how much harm would a little change cause?” She pulls me to my feet and pushes me to the edge of the cliffs. “Let’s go. It’s okay to leave this all behind.”
“But it isn’t that simple.” I’ve spent my whole life like that. Exploring. Changing. Until I finally found this place. This little, secluded home that was my home so long ago. But upon my return, upon realizing how much had truly changed, I began to change my ways as well. I tried as hard as I could to adapt, and to settle down. And it had seemed all would be fine.
But my neighbors had not faced my return with the same attitude. They did not share the feeling that our adventures were over, they did not think that we could just settle down and adapt to the change. They, like I once had, wanted to embrace the change. To keep exploring. To jump into yet another abyss of possibilities.
“What are you talking about?” She replies after another long period of silence. And then she jumps, grabbing me along with her. And for a second time, I plummet through the abyss.

“See?” She says to me as we fall. “Nothing to fear. It’s just the same thing you felt last time!” And indeed, the first thing I feel is that excitement, those emotions building up and then releasing in bursts. “Maybe…you were right,” I say after some more time. “I do feel it.”
And it was good. It was amazing. The change, the feelings, the wind and dust rushing against me. A few times I doubt myself again, wonder if maybe I should have just stayed up and blocked out the change, but then I look at the clouds, and my companion, and how far I’ve gone, and I shut out those thoughts, enjoying the present. Why care about what I thought in the past, or what might happen in the future? Everything is already changing along this adventure, this endless, amazing adventure.
“Speaking of endless…” I whisper to myself a minute later. “How long have I been here? This is…longer than last time.”
I say my thoughts a little louder so my companion can hear. “How long have we been here?”
“I don’t know,” she replies. “But why care?”
I nod, but inside I begin to once more doubt this adventure. I had agreed to something like last time, something shorter and packed. Looking at this change in another new light, those small thoughts of doubt come back to the front of my mind. Why, again, had I agreed to this? Why had I abandoned my home and embraced even more change?
“How can I not care?” I finally ask. “Look what you’ve made me do. I’ve left home behind, and now everything will change again… and we’re just out here, free falling along.”
“So? Was that place ever a real part of you in the first place? Look at how far we’ve come? And I thought you were fully on board with this, what with this sudden change of heart?” She emphasized the word change as if making a special point.
“Well, maybe it wasn’t fully a part of me yet, but it could have been if not for you and your change and your adventure.”
“Okay then,” she says. “Think that way if you want-look, here’s your precious little home. Go there. You’ll see. You’ll be back out here in days.”
“Fine,” I say hotly. “And you’ll stay doing the same things you’ve always done. No home. No nothing.” I land on the soft, familiar ground that is my town, and look around for my friends. But the home that I once knew is gone, and in its place new buildings, new people. New experiences.

“Now look at what you’ve done!” I yell at the person who was once my companion, but she is already long gone. Maybe it would have been better to just stay with her after all-I can barely stand to see my home so changed like this. At least the ground is familiar-I find a little rock I recognize and sit down on it, head in my hands. I sit like this for about an hour until an unfamiliar voice wakes me and I am forced to pick my head up again. “What do you want?” I ask. “I don’t know you.”
“Aren’t you… aren’t you that person who left here once? You’re back?”
“You remember me?” I ask, a ray of hope entering my mind. “Then…are the others also here? How much has changed?”
“Calm down,” the person replies. “Everything is fine. Everyone you used to know is here. Things have changed, but what makes us us will never go away.” On that note, I stand up, looking the stranger who is now my neighbor in the eyes. “Take me there. Show me.”
He begins to walk, and I follow. I notice all the changes that the little town went through, but now, even more, I see all the small things that did not change and never will. The things that make my home what it is.

Years later, I stand at the edge of the abyss once more. I’ve been content in the town, and have no intention of starting another adventure, but I’d decided I would visit it one more time. Soon enough, as I expected, a familiar face appears. My old companion.
“Hello,” she says. “How have things been back in the town?”
“Actually, very good,” I respond, “now that I think about it, not much has changed.”
“Oh.” She looks surprised, annoyed, and happy at the same time. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me now?”
“I’m sorry, but I think I’ve had enough of what you do for my time. But good luck, and I hope you will join me here one day. And see things the way I do.”
“We will never all see things the same way,” she replies. “But good luck to you as well.” And she was off, leaving me to walk the trail alone back home.

Weekly for non-fi

Pt. 1
Inspired by Intro by XX- 405 words

So the prophecy’s been written, has it? That I may be the one to fulfill your fate. We may well be the only soldiers allowed to walk beside each other as brothers, but that is so far away ago that it doesn’t matter. We walk into battle with high chins, even though we know what it means, even if we know we may never find the courage to lower them again, we take a breath in, maybe one last breath of peace?

The war drums play in the background, the air misty and cool. You look to the left of you, see your brother. He used to look so young. You give him a little nod. Hold still for a moment, so they them tell your mother how brave you looked before the bullets stormed through, tearing through you like broken promises.

The bullets start, sounding sharp like knives. You march on. Take aim and fire with the beat in your heart, the one that tells you went to shoot and when to not and if you listen to it maybe you’ll be okay. Every soldier knows to listen to their commander first, then their heart. Each soldier falls with a thud the dignity that we promised them. After the battle is over you’ll take a minute to examine the bodies, maybe close their eyes and fold their arms over their chests if you knew them.

Even so, what a horrible way to die?

They’ll be carted away this evening.

And even with the bodies falling and the bullets that are somehow yours finding their way to another persons heart, like Cupid’s arrows, you still keep going, because what other choice do you have?

And so we press on that way, because where else have we to go? What other way is there for you to go? Turn off for a second, and their bullets will find you, same as yours have found theirs.

Where else have we to go, but the deep silence of our minds, where the gun shots can be muffled, if just for a second, a moment of peace where we can be pack in the place where we started. You look over to your brother, and you can still picture his face in elementary school. He’s so different, now. So serious. You haven’t seen him smile in a while. You’ll make it home. You have to see that face again.

Inspired by Theme by Cyprss- 401 words

It’s the silence that breaks us, I think.

Or at least, it breaks me. It’s been breaking me for six months now. But it’s been so long since I’ve been forced to see you. And your face knocks the air out of my lungs yet again.

The bag of apples falls to the floor. I’m sorry that I’m acting so surprised. You always told me I wasn’t good at poker. I guess you were right.

It’s the look in your eyes. We’re no more than the end of a sad story, no more than another couple that didn’t work out.

But when I look at you (not your eyes, I still can’t look you in the eyes), I still see you clearing out the apartment that we’ve shared. I still see empty park benches. I still see broken mirrors, because isn’t that all we are? The fragments of me have been swept up and glued back to me. Even still, the reflection is incoherent. It’s been so long, but I guess time hasn’t healed us yet. I guess it couldn’t heal what you’d destroyed.


Is that too much?

I’m sorry, let’s start with something else. It’s been two years, far enough to move on, yes? So lets move on, let’s act like strangers, pass each other like you’re just another girl, and I’m just another boy.

But I guess we’re past that. It’s the apples, remember?

I manage a weak smile, the one you used to tell me was cute. That was a while ago, wasn’t it? I am falling back in love with you and I hate myself for that and I’m sorry. But the silence, oh yes, the silence, the one that cuts through us, the one that breaks me apart even more. I loved you then, and I still love you, even more if that’s possible. But you don’t recognize it, you never did and you certainly don’t now, so what’s there to do but move on?

I take a deep breath. As much as you hurt me, and as much as I hate you, I’m still glad to see you.

I stumble across the words to say- nothing seems correct. In my memory, I can only come across one phrase that seems decent.

“So,” I blurted, interrupting the great and empty silence. “How have you been?”

And I feel myself flinching in the anticipation of your response.

Pt. 2

Inspired by a clock I saw- 703 words

It’s shifting.
The massive clock, rusted from years of weather and not much else, is finding its’ way to move again, stirring the people awake with the grinding noise of rusted gears.
Time has finally resumed.

***

Of course, it had never fully disappeared.
Behind the cracks behind the gears you’ll find them, little moments, stored and hidden away. Perhaps kissing a child goodnight or one last lover’s embrace. But slowly, the little pockets of time dissapeared, until the only thing left to say was goodbye.

***

But it’s back now.
Today is a day to celebrate, the day where the town has woken up. It was a day no one thought would come- for years, the only way people could visit one another was through their dreams. They had been lost from one another, ripped out of each others grasp without the slightest warning. Today, finally, they can be united again.
But don’t forget, either, the ones who didn’t wake up. The ones who had lost themselves to the dreamy abyss, forgotten to look up and forgotten to remember that outside of dream exists reality.
Don’t forget the fathers screams, or the widows sobs, or the empty way the orphans walk around the streets. Don’t forget the look in their eyes when they realized they would never wake up.

***


Such was the face of Prince Phillip.
Watch his knees fall to the ground in slow motion, colliding excruciatingly slowly with the hardwood floors. Time has stopped again. He will move on. The pace of life will outrun him otherwise. But he will never forget.

***

See the way her eyelashes sit delicately over her eyelids, those rounded little orbs. And see the way her hair has settled on the pillow. See the way she still keeps her lips turned to a smile.
But Prince Phillip will forget these things. They will fade with the rest of time. He still has a kingdom to attend to, after all.

***

His kingdom is in confusion.
Life has not stopped for them. For the first time in a hundred years, people are waking up to find their brothers, mothers, cousins to have died years ago in their sleep. Generations have passed without them, and they just want to see their family again. Families are being reunited decades after it would have mattered. The Sleeping grew to be nothing more than a legacy.
Everyone thought it would have been a normal day.
There was nothing special about Aurora’s birthday anymore, no more special parties. Her memory had faded, mostly out of existence when her parents sent her away. She became nothing more than a scary tale: did you hear about the princess who disappeared? And so she was gone, nothing more than a story.

***

Her parents were in mourning.
They had hoped to celebrate the day after her birthday, the second birthday of a girl they never got to raise. They blamed themselves for what happened. Maybe if they hadn’t given her to the fairies. Maybe if they had raised her as the princess she was…
But they were beyond maybe’s: their daughter was gone. They had only watched her grow up from windows, or disguised as villagers so as not to attract anyone’s suspicion. They had watched her grow beautiful, graceful, kind. But they had never talked to her, and now they never would.
It was just one more set of parents mourning the child they had lost.

***

Maleficent was dead.
Her body, coiled and ugly in the form of a dragon, lay just outside the palace in what had been a field of thorns. Now, outside of dream state, it had returned to the same field that it had always been, and poor farmers, who knew nothing else to do, returned to tending their crops, even though most of them were beyond hope of reviving. They hoed around her body, perhaps spitting in it’s direction if they felt brave enough.
And besides the dead crops and the dead bodies, when the eagle flew above the kingdom he had lived in all his life, he saw the same world he always had.
Malicents still could not kill the kingdom that her enemies had created. She could only damage it.

Pt. 3
1002 words

There used to be a clock here.
Across the great distance, it used to stand tall, a reminder that this town could not be destoryed. The clock was the pride of the kingdom, and each day at noon it’s song, giant bells clashing against each other, would alert the kingdom of the time. It really was a beautiful clock; ornate; with fancy woodwork running down it.
When the clock fell, the town was shook. Oh, how they cried. For that clock was not just a clock but a reminder of the time they had spent asleep, a reminder of the friends they had lost to the nightmares, and the princess who no one really knew. It was a reminder of how the two kingdoms came together without a marriage, how the king and they king loved the other prince like the son they never had… or the daughter they had lost.
So when it fell, it left in it’s wake shock. The people of the kingdom no longer had anyway of knowing what time it is, saving for where the sun sat in the sky that day. Plans went amiss and time was lost for the second time.

***

That is, for everyone except for the time keeper.
The time keeper lived on the edge of town after the clock fell, for he no longer had a home inside of it. It was fortunate he was not home that day, for otherwise he would have perished when the clock fell on him, but no, he was off to visit the market.
The time keeper was an old, bitter, and largely forgotten man. His nose was crooked, and on it perched a pair of tiny wire rim glasses. He rarely varied from his routine, and that routine was this:

6:00: Wake up, start the tea kettle, get dressed.
6:15: Prepare breakfast (he definitely followed the belief that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and would prepare the most elabroate and delicious spreads with fresh bread, ripe fruit, eggs, and freshly grated cheese. He was known for having grown most of his food straight in his backyard, save for the bread and the cheese, which he picked up from the market.)
6:45: After enjoying his breakfast, he would go on a quick stroll around the forest that surrounded him.
7:30: Tend to his garden
8:00: Begin on the clocks. The time keeper kept dozens of clocks. First, he would inspect each one, make sure it was still ticking and was set on the correct time. Then, he would start to build a new one.
12:00: Visit the market to pick up fresh bread and cheese. He got there as soon as it opened so he could pick out the best.
12:30: Time for lunch. He would usually prepare a soup with vegetables from his garden and eat his bread on the side and a large glass of milk from his cow. He rarely varied from his diet.
1:00: A short nap
2:00: Back to work on the clocks.
5:00: Visit Mrs. Hawthorne- his dear friend and neighbor, and the only one who knew of his plan to restore clocks throughout the kingdom.
7:00: Return to his house and prepare a simple sandwich for dinner.
7:30: The time keeper kept a tidy house and would clean it from top to bottom every night, making sure to clean the chimney, dust the floors, and turn the compost.
8:30: The timekeeper believed that a clean mind needed a clean body, thus, he would bathe.
9:00: Read
10:00: Time to go to sleep.

The timekeeper kept a simple life, but it was one that he loved, and as you can imagine, he made many clocks over the years. So many, in fact, that eventually he had no room to keep these clocks. And so it was time: he finally went to the market to sell his clocks.
There were wall clocks and coo coo clocks and grandfather clocks- really an amazing variety of any sort of clock imaginable. Oh, his clocks were big and small, quiet and loud, but they all ticked and that was what mattered to him. Soon, there were long lines lining up outside his stall, all people wanting to buy his clocks. Some demanded two or three or more, but he had a rule: one clock per person.
“But it’s not for me!” they would protest. “It’s for my neighbor!” Or for their cousin. Or for their sickly mother who couldn’t leave her house. Their reasons didn’t matter to him, he remained firm on his rule. And he charged everyone fairly because, he reasoned, he was never raised to be a crook.
Oh, and his clocks were beautiful, too, ornate and delicate with the finest wood work. People could see the patterns of the fallen Clock Tower in his work, the fine engravings.
The people forgot about the man who had sold them their clocks, they forgot how he had lived on the edge of the kingdom and they forgot about the clock towaer. But they did not forget how beuatiful the clocks were, and they did not forget how to read them. They set appointments with the clocks, set activities to be done during those times, set routines just like the time keeper had. And really, that was all the fame he wanted. The man had enough from the clocks to live a happy life afterward, and that he did. He settled back into his college, went back to his rutine- except instead of clocks, it was little toys that he was making, Russian nesting dolls, or birds that’s beaks would bob up and down, or prettly little spinning tops painted with ornate designs. He didn’t forget about his friend, either, and would make her little gifts.
And that is how time was finally returned to the kingdom. The truth is, it was never really lost.

Total is 2517 words. Weekly done for non-fi!

~March 17th-23rd~
Main-Cabin Weekly
Total Word Count (Individual ones below): 2,808
Main Post: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/6081187/

Part one: 935

Stampede by Alexander Jean and Lindsey Stirling: 525
Diego and I twirled across the dance floor. We were the center of attention, the object of everyone’s eye.
I spun around, and I thanked my mother in my mind for making sure my mask was on tight. My mask itself was glittery and red. It wasn’t a fake mask that you would get from a costume store either, it was a family heirloom.
Click, clack, click. As Diego and I shasheyed across the floor, I could just feel my mother’s intense stare.
Step a little more to the left, I thought, cursing myself. Mother would surely notice.

We continued to dance, twirling and leaping through the air. We practiced this so many times.

Here came the finale. If I messed this up, I knew right then and there that Mother would not be pleased.
Diego took my hand and I spun. Round and round I went.

One.
Two.
Three.

My head felt light, and I became dizzy. The world blurred, and I fell to the ground after the third spin.
My vision went black.

I found myself in a hospital bed. The sheets were rough and scraggly, but to me, they were the most comfortable things ever. I was out of my uncomfortable dress and instead in a hospital gown.
I tried sitting up, but a hand touched my forehead and pushed me down gently. A nurse looked at me, annoyed, and said something. I couldn’t hear her, and I said so.
She tried saying it again, but I still couldn’t hear her. She tried speaking up, and that’s when I finally heard, “You need to lay down!”
I nodded.
The nurse smiled at me and hurried out of the room.

What was going on?

Throughout the day, my mother and father, friends and family, would visit me. I’d try to talk to them, but in order for me to hear them, they had to shout. The doctors didn’t understand what was wrong, and tried running test after test on me.
Still, they could not understand what went wrong with me that night.

It was late. The hospital room was quiet besides the constant ping of the machines.
I decided to grab my phone. I hadn’t been allowed to look at it, but I had to see if anyone had contacted me. I grabbed my headphones out of the backpack that my mom had brought to me.
I opened the backpack and was soon scrolling through my text messages. I had a total of 13 messages, each from individual friends. One of them stood out in particular, Diego’s. It read:
“I hope you’re doing alright, Ada. I’m sorry for what happened. Maybe we should stop dancing together.”
I didn’t know if he was awake at the moment, but I texted back.
“No, my mother would never agree to that. Besides, I don’t think the dancing had anything to do with what happened.”
Surprisingly, Diego responded.
“I’m not sure that the dancing DIDN’T have anything to do with it. Besides, the dancing, if anything, aggravated whatever condition you have. I don’t want anything to happen to you again.”
I rolled my eyes. He was overreacting.

Child of Light by Lindsey Stirling: 410
Dust. So, so much dust.
I crawled up into the attic and shut the door behind me. The loud shouts from below me grew softer.
Thankfully, I had found an escape from the bile that was in the lower floors of my house.

I started to think that maybe I should just live up here. No one would care. Mom and dad wouldn’t, May wouldn’t, no one would.

To take my mind off of this, I decided to start looking in the boxes that were up here.
I found boxes of old clothes, toys and trinkets. I was pretty sure that I had gone through all of the boxes when suddenly, I saw a box in the corner. It was small, but I decided to check it out anyway.
It was about the size of my head, and when I opened it, I found a little music box inside.
It was ornately decorated, but dusty. Once I brushed it off, I could see it glow in the dark, almost. There were letters on the lid.
Emmaline.
That was my grandma’s name.
I opened the box, and a little fairy folded out.
I felt around the box some more, since it was pretty dark in the attic, and found a little pin, which I turned.
The click click click stopped, and the music began to play.
It was haunting, yet beautiful.

The little fairy, with her white dress and delicate wings, spun around. She had a little smile on her face and tiny eyes. She looked happy.
What I wouldn’t give to be her.

I continued to listen, and the small plink plink plink sounds replayed over and over in my head.
It was grandma’s song.

Over and over again, I turned that small pin. I couldn’t get the song out of my head. It was a part of me, even though I had never realized it. The song was soulful, haunting, and yet conveyed a message.
According to my mom, grandma had lived during a time of great pain. She was able to create detailed music boxes. She was a hero to her people, using one of her supposed magic music boxes to get rid of a tyrant king. Of course, that was just a story, but it was still enchanting nonetheless.
Oh how much I wanted one of those music boxes that had supposed magical powers.
Music did hold power, but not the magical kind.

Or so I thought.

Part two: 840

The thing I took inspiration from: My ideas page from my journal. I selected five random ideas from a page that I write random phrases, words and random stuff on; Not knowing what to do, first conflict, mistakes, lack of sleep, a pained shriek.

Normal days are… well, normal. They consist of family, friends and work. Always work.
You could say that I live a happy, normal life. I never had any trauma, never any problems, besides minor ones.

At least until last week.

I was at a party. My world revolves around these, so it was no surprise. I was standing in the corner, talking with some of my friends, when all of a sudden I felt a punch to my jaw. I fell to the floor and my drink spilled all over my dress and the ground.
Loud laughs sounded around me and I struggled to get up. My arms felt like noodles and my face like jelly. My legs were being pinned down by someone, and I struggled to see.
I had two areas of pain in my head. My jaw and a spot on the top of my head. Both throbbed.
I tried kicking my attacker, but from the laughs around me, I could tell that I had missed or that they had dodged.
They suddenly released my legs and I jumped up, kicking the cup to the side.
Shoot, it was Sarah.
Her face was contorted with uncontrollable cackles, and I could feel myself heating up. Even though I was angry, I didn’t understand what I should have done next. Did I want to walk away, return the punch, talk to her?
Sarah took another look at me and gave another loud laugh. “You look like you went dumpster diving. New clothes, I’d presume?”
This got me seething. I desperately wanted to punch her, make the others laugh at her like they laughed at me.
I, however, didn’t need to. My friend, Zoey, punched her for me.
Sarah let out a pained shriek and fell to the ground, just like I did.
It wasn’t that funny, but a little giggle escaped my lips anyways.
Zoey shouted at Sarah, her face red and her lips pulled tight. “Get lost, Sarah. You have no business starting a fight.”
“Neither do you, idiot.” Sarah retorted, getting up and brushing herself off.
“It wasn’t starting a fight, it was ending it. I’d suggest that you get out of my sight before I hit you again. I’m not afraid to.” Zoey hissed.
“Are you sure that you want to fight me? I’d be happy to, you know.” Sarah replied, regaining her composure, grinning evilly.
Zoey rolled her eyes. “Come on, Em, let’s go.”
She grabbed my hand and I followed her. We went to the restroom and I started cleaning myself up while Zoey ranted about Sarah.
“First she came for me, and here she is getting beef with you too! I told you that you should’ve stayed away from Jake.” She paced the room, waving her hands around wildly.
I shrugged. “I don’t really care. She’s petty, a stereotypical mean girl. She doesn’t matter. Jake likes me, and I like him. He doesn’t give a * about Sarah, and you know that.”
Zoey shrugged. “You’re right, but that doesn’t mean that Sarah will ignore you.”
“She’s a four-year-old in a seventeen-year-old body. She doesn't have any real friends, you know.” I replied, drying myself off with a paper towel.
“I know…” Zoey groaned. “She’s just really annoying. You realize that she’s gonna pick some more fights, right?”
“Yeah… I know…” I said, trailing off. I didn’t know how to handle this. Sure, Sarah was annoying, but she was strong. My jaw could testify to that. I knew that tonight, apparently, was just the beginning of a long line of fights and supposed ‘revenge’ from Sarah. I could tell that Zoey thought that I knew what to do, but I sure did not believe that myself.
I guess that we just have to wait and see.

I went home that night mostly dry. I, being sixteen, was able to drive myself, but I asked Zoey to drive because I knew that she was better. She dropped herself off then I drove myself the rest of the way home.
I went inside tired. I changed and got ready. You know, the usual stuff. Then finally I tucked myself under the covers and tried my best to sleep.
When I couldn’t fall asleep immediately, I checked the clock. It was 3:00am! Was it really that late?
I tried my best to fall asleep, but it still wouldn’t work. I tried everything I knew of, but nothing worked. Soon, it was 5:00am, and my alarm screamed at me my favorite song. However, it wasn’t really my favorite at the moment.
I got up out of bed, tired and running off of no sleep. I got ready, dressing myself in a comfy, baggy hoodie, a t-shirt and jeans. Hopefully I wouldn’t fall asleep in class.
I went outside and drove to the gym. I lifted weights and ran the track. By 6:30, I was changed back into my outfit and driving to school.

And there, on the steps, I could see Sarah waiting for me.

Part Three: 1033
Continuing the first story of Part One
Theme: Extraordinary meaning (Hopefully conveyed in the scenes with the music, Diego, and her mom)

I texted back, “Diego! That makes no sense, and you know it.”
Diego left me on read.

He left me on read!!

I angrily shoved the headphones into my ears and decided to pick a song from my playlist.
I wasn’t sure what to pick at first. An angry song? A sad song? A happy song?
Finally, my finger decided to click on one of my favorites.
The violin and guitar’s harmony started to flood my ears. Angry, sad and joyous all in one.

That was the first time since the accident that I heard something clearly.

In fact, it was very clear. It was crisp, the contrast between the high screams of the violin and the low, soft tones of the guitar. It felt close to home. Fast paced, filled with emotion.
Stressed, yet calm. Angry, yet sad.

I awoke to my mother glaring down at me. A nurse had taken out my earbuds, and I could tell that the both of them were going to lecture me.
My mother started shouting. “Young lady!”
“Mom, you don’t have to shout. I can hear you fine.” I said, just as surprised as she was.
She examined me closely, then she whispered. “Can you hear me?”
I nodded, and the look on her face was… interesting.
The nurse grinned. “This is amazing! We’ve never seen someone with the amount of hearing impairment you’ve had recover this quickly! This is excellent!”

I slowly started to recover. My hearing improved, and I was soon able to attend school again.
That’s when I saw Diego.

I was trudging through the halls, the heavy backpack once again plaguing my shoulder, when all of a sudden, I saw Diego getting some of his things out of his locker.
I quickened my pace. Hopefully I could catch him. He glanced up, and said, “Hey.”
I smiled. “Hi. Are you excited for practice today?”
His face darkened. “Didn’t your mom tell you? She canceled dance practice, forever.”
I furrowed my eyebrows. “That can’t be right. She’d never stop it, even for the end of the world.”
“You are her world, Adalina. She doesn’t have anyone else.” His eyes pierced into mine. “No one.”

I walked to class with this thought in my mind. You are her world, Adalina. I wondered what that meant. Of course, I knew, sort of, what that meant. I just had never seen this. Was he right and I just didn’t see it? Or did he just say it to make me feel bad?
I made my way into French class and plopped my books onto my desk. I opened one up and the page fell onto a vocabulary section. On the top of the page, there were the words, “sens sincère” which I knew translated to heartfelt meaning. I didn’t know why this stood out to me, but it did.
The words “sens sincère” stuck themselves to my brain, leeching every other thought in my mind. Heartfelt meaning. That still felt like it meant nothing, so I didn’t understand why it was nagging me so much.
I got home from school, and finally, finally! Something else was nagging my brain. I meant the world to my mom, according to Diego, but what did that look like?
Mom wasn’t very affectionate. She, however, wanted me to try my best in everything, even though she didn’t approve of my French lessons. She loved me, but didn’t really show it.

I went inside and set to my homework. I was done by 5 and went back downstairs to find my mom sitting at the dining room table. She had her arms crossed and looked at me sternly.
“Adalina.” She said, “You’re not going to dance any more. We recently had a report come in from the hospital, and your legs still aren’t functional enough, and might not ever be. You have a condition. While it pains me to say this, I have to.” She paused for effect. I hated it when she did that.
“You can no longer dance. Diego will hopefully find a new partner, but you can not risk another problem like what happened three weeks ago.”
So Diego was right. I made a face and looked at my mom like she was joking. Of course, she never joked.
Mother sighed. “I’m sorry, I really am. I know how much you love dancing. It’s for your own good, I promise you.”
This was probably hurting her more than me. I never loved dancing. I just knew that it wasn’t a good idea to oppose anything mom said. I didn’t mention this of course, and tried mo I went back to school with my head down. No one talked to me, no one wanted to, to be sure. I was the weird girl that went to the hospital for some random thing. No one wanted to catch it, even if they knew that it wasn't contagious.
School went by in a blur. I went through class after class, till finally, we had History class.
The reason why it’s important to me is because that’s the only class Diego and I share.
We had seats next to each other, which made it awkward.
I sat in my seat. Diego wasn’t here yet. My head suddenly started throbbing, but I just thought that it was a stress headache.
It wasn’t.

I knew something was wrong when the headache didn’t go away. I knew that I had finished my history project (which I had to present in a few days), but something else was nagging me. That’s when I got the text from Diego.

“Help.”

The world started to throb like my head. Raising my hand shakily, I asked if I could go to the bathroom. The teacher gave me a hall pass, and I started to walk. The world seemed slow. Step after step, I tried my best to get to the bathroom. Diego’s text had more to it, but I couldn’t read it in class. I would probably cry, and that wouldn’t be good.

I got to the bathroom. I staggered into a stall and locked the door behind me. Leaning against the wall for support, I started reading.

IC Weekly - 03/23/22

Note: While Sokkla is most likely not a widely preferred/known ship (idek if it's my most favorite), the dynamics between Sokka and Azula have intrigued me so much that I just had to elaborate on it. XD (Also I’ve never written romance before help- ;-;)

Sokka wasn’t paying attention to what Aang was saying about the current relations between the Fire Nation and the Earth Nation. Instead, his eyes were darting in the direction of Azula, who was currently arguing with Zuko about wearing his official, albeit uncomfortable Fire Lord robes throughout the day.
“It looks good, Zuzu!” she was insisting sharply.
“It doesn't matter! I’m perfectly comfortable right now, thank you very much,” Zuko was retorting.
“You’re the Fire Lord! At least look the part!”
Sokka suppressed a smile. Ever since Azula had worked her way back up from recovery, she had the same type of personality (haughty and devious as always), but perhaps less of the psycho killer mania that had brought Sokka to his wit’s end before.
Azula was now glowering at her brother, who was smiling. There was something about her scowl that made her seem less menacing, almost amusing. Cute, even.
“Sokka?”
Sokka turned back to Aang, who had a puzzled expression on his face. “Did you hear what I said?”
Sokka blinked and shook his head. “Oh–sorry, Aang. What were you saying?”
“I was saying that the Fire Nation will have to cover some of the costs of damage done to the Earth Nation. Their infrastructure is still in pretty bad shape.”
“Right–sounds good!”
Aang followed Sokka’s gaze to the siblings, who had begun arguing again. This time, over a completely different subject. Something about knives.
“Ah, Zuko and Azula, the most chaotic and argumentative siblings, am I right?” the Avatar said wisely. Not unlike you and Katara—just joking, ha ha…”
“Yeah, for sure,” Sokka said quickly. Aang then excused himself to look for Toph, who was most likely somewhere tormenting the servants of the Fire Nation palace. Sokka breathed a big sigh, relieved that Aang had read nothing further in his interest with Fire Nation royals.

Azula had finally given up, which was completely unbeknownst to her. She never lost. Ever. Especially not an argument with her dear brother. How pathetic of her. She could have incinerated herself for not trying harder. Zuko was now looking as smug as ever, the cocky Fire Lord he was. She wanted to slap that smirk right off his stupid, scarred face. There was a time not too long ago where he would have already been on the floor, even more scarred than he was now.
“I’ll get you back one day,” she threatened.
“Go ahead,” Zuko said teasingly. “I’ll be sure to watch out.” Her brother then turned his back on her, lightly flicking her knee with the edge of his robes.
Azula rolled her eyes, then noticed something out of the corner of her eye. She turned around to see the Northern Water Tribe chief’s son (and a former enemy), Sokka, looking at her. As soon as he saw that she noticed, he quickly glanced down at his boots.
What was this excuse for a chief’s son staring at? Nothing good would come of it, that was for sure. But to make her point clear, Azula went over to Sokka, ready to make sure he wasn’t up to anything.
“What are you looking at?” she demanded.
“N-nothing,” Sokka stammered quickly.
“Oh, really? Are you sure it’s nothing?” Azula said icily.
“I promise, it really isn’t. Sorry if I offended you.” Sokka hesitated, then asked, “I could make it up to you–do you want to go out for some cactus juice later at the Dragon Tea place? Maybe 2 o’clock? If you’re not busy, of course.”
Was it just her, or was he blushing? Azula looked him up and down. She supposed he wasn’t that bad-looking, yet his rather dumb, carefree personality was not what she had in mind. Sokka was definitely not the type of person she usually hung out with. Still, she mused, why not give it a try. She could grudgingly admit to herself that she was rather curious about his invitation.
“Alright,” she said abruptly. “I’ll go, on one condition. I’m not drinking any cactus juice.”

Sokka smiled. He kept calm on the outside, but the inside of him had just exploded with excitement. He had just scored a da–no, a nice outing with Azula. It would be interesting to get to know her better. After all, she was surely more than just lightning and a sharp tongue.

***

He sat nervously at a table at Dragon Tea, tapping his foot on the floor to an irregular rhythm. It was very close to their rendezvous time. What if she had bailed? No, she couldn’t have. Although Azula wasn’t known for keeping her word – on the contrary, she was known for deceiving others to get what she wanted. Sokka remembered Long Feng, who was tricked into giving up his position as the head of the secret Dai Li. Even though her motives were more questionable, he couldn’t help admiring her masterful tactics and guile that helped achieve her ambitions. She made conquering the unconquerable city look positively easy.
The door to Dragon Tea suddenly opened, announced by the arrival of jingling bells. Speak of the devil. Azula strided in, her eyes darting around the place until they arrived and rested on Sokka. She made a beeline straight for him.
“Azula! You came,” Sokka said, trying not to betray his excitement.
“Of course I did,” Azula said irritably, rolling her eyes. She sat down at the table across from Sokka, who chuckled lightly. Then he pushed one of two cacti juice sitting on the table to Azula, who made a face.
“I said I wasn’t drinking cactus juice,” she snapped.
“Just try it,” Sokka said encouragingly.
Azula scowled and stuck out her tongue, then turned to the drink in front of her. She hesitated.
As she stared down at the juice, Sokka noted her silky black hair, the bemused yet rather adorable expression, the casually elegant outfit she wore, and couldn’t help marveling at how effortlessly perfect she looked.
Azula turned back to Sokka, unsure. The two held each other’s gazes for a moment, and Sokka felt as if he could lose himself in the depths of her amber eyes forever. He nodded gently.
“Go on,” he said, smiling.
Slowly, Azula picked up the cup and raised it to her lips. She closed her eyes and took a small sip.
“How is it?”
“It’s… not terrible, I suppose,” she muttered, Sokka could detect the slightest trace of a smile. He grinned.
“Not terrible? Well, I’m glad you didn’t hate it. It’s the quenchiest after all. See, things aren’t so bad once you try them!”
Azula slowly smiled. A real smile.
“I suppose not.”

The cactus juice actually tasted quite delicious to Azula, but she wasn’t going to give Sokka the satisfaction of knowing. The chief’s son drained his juice in one gulp, and set it back on the table.
“Wanna go for a walk?” he suddenly offered.
Azula blinked. She hadn’t been expecting this. She was caught off-guard, but quickly composed herself.
“I suppose, if that’s what you would like,” she said coolly, drawing herself up. The two approached the door, where Sokka held it open for her.
“After you, princess,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling. Azula stiffened, feeling her cheeks grow hot. What was wrong with her?
“You’re the royal Fire Nation princess, it feels only right to call you that, if you get me,” Sokka added quickly.
She had to admit, the guy was clever. Azula relaxed, but some of the warmth on her face remained; it made her rather furious with herself. She rolled her eyes, smirking slightly, and allowed Sokka to escort her out the door. The day was quite beautiful outside.
“Did you know,” Sokka said, “that fire lilies remind me of you?”
“What a surprise,” Azula replied sarcastically. Though secretly, she was unexpectedly touched that he thought of her.
Sokka sat down on a nearby bench, next to a pond full of turtle ducks. He motioned for her to sit beside him. She complied, though cautiously.
“I like people-watching sometimes,” he said, looking out at the creatures in the pond. “It’s helped me realize that despite whatever people might say, their true intentions are betrayed through their actions. You can learn a lot from a person just by looking at them.”
“And what have you discovered about me?” Azula asked.
Sokka turned to her. “You used to hide behind a mask of terror and anger,” he said, nodding at Azula even as she pursed her lips, annoyed that he should bring it up. “But you also have a softer side, unwilling to show anyone. All you want is to prove your worth to the people that you initially didn’t care about.” He moved closer to her. “I see you sometimes watching the turtle ducks outside, appreciating the little things. You hate it when anyone sees you like that, though. You still want to uphold the cold, indifferent persona.” He moved even closer. “Which I understand, of course. But I like the other side of you too.”
Suddenly, he kissed her on the cheek. Just a peck. Almost immediately, he withdrew, looking terrified at what he had just done.
“I–I’m so sorry Azula—” he started, but she stopped him with a kiss. She then looked on, amused as he gaped at her, stunned.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she replied. Sokka beamed, and Azula rested her head on his shoulder as they gazed out to the pond where the turtle ducks swam peacefully.

1579 words

Journey into Gnome Man’s Land:

Hey there, you single-celled organisms! I’m Alice Alabaster, and you’re watching my hit vlog Gnome Man’s Land. This video’s gonna be a bit longer than normal, so feel free to pause now while you grab some popcorn. Now sit back, relax, and enjoy the show!

I was sitting in my dark basement, hiding from society, when I realized – also known as MY SUBSCRIBERS THREATENED ME TO MAKE ANOTHER VIDEO – that I hadn’t filmed anything in a while. So I figured I’d better do something quick before you all find out where I live and come here to burn me at the stake. I had two options for this eon’s video: Go with my norm of failed claymations and slightly disturbing Exquisite Corpse games with my boyfriend… or try something new. Something amazing. Something that actually lives up to the name of my vlog!
Yes, that’s right… I am going gnome-hunting!

I know what you’re going to say: “BuT aLiCe, GnOmEs ArEn’T aLiVe!!!”
Oh, just you wait…

In my family, we have a legend. I mean, all families have their big-fish tales, their stories passed down from generation to generation about great-great-grandpa what’s-his-face and his defeat of the mighty bear, but lemme tell you, my family’s legend tops them all. We call it… THE LEGEND OF THE SLEEPING GNOME.
Generally it is used at family reunions to scare the little children *cough* like my annoying nieces *cough* they deserve it *cough cough*, but there’s always a bit of truth in those old tall tales. I was inspired by an especially gruesome round of Dungeons and Dragons played at my friend’s house one night, when I had all but forgotten about the Legend of the Sleeping Gnome.

You know, I feel like I should edit in funny voice effects in the post-production whenever I say that.
Let’s try it again: The Legend of the Sleeping Gnome!
That’s better!

In the DnD game, my friend and I had to save my boyfriend from an army of gnomes that wanted to marry him.
I concluded two things from this: One; that gnomes are evil, and two; that whoever wrote the extension for the game had been watching too much Gravity Falls.
This made me remember the Legend of the Sleeping Gnome! (okay that’s starting to get annoying), and I thought: Why has nobody ever investigated the reliability-ness… because that’s definitely a word… of our beloved family legend?
So I took it upon myself to go forth and conquer the deep forests where my great-great-great-great-waittherewereonlysupposedtobethreegreats-grandmother Bessie grew up in, the forests where the legend originated, the forest where the evil gnomes supposedly live.

For this, I needed a disguise: A traffic cone as a hat, a fake beard stolen from my sister’s cousin’s father-in-law’s husband who bought a rip-off Santa Claus costume one year to surprise his kids but ended up giving them trauma and they had to go to therapy for the next two years because of it (but that’s a story for another time), and a pair of overalls repurposed from last year’s Despicable Me Halloween costume. They’ll never recognize me!

Alright, I’m heading into the woods. I have my disguise on, GoPro at the ready, shovel in my hand. I am ready for anything!

Oh dang is that a squirrel?!

RUNNNN!!!!

Phew! Okay. Okay. Alice, it’s just a squirrel. It can’t hurt you. Now just walk slowly past it, you have a rock you can throw at it if it tries to bite you… wait is this on camera?
One step after another… deep breaths… Okay! You did it! Back to the gnomes.

Here’s a cave, this looks promising… Where did I put my flashlight?
Oh, there it is. In the bottom of my backpack.
Faithful viewers, feel free to take a snack or bathroom break if you’d rather not listen to my stream-of-consciousness-muttering while I root through the 20 pounds of stuff I put in this 10-pound bag until I can finally get the flashlight out.

Got it! And for once I remembered to give it fresh batteries. Now we go into the cave, for real this time.

Okay, this is a little creepy…
Just walkin’ along, in this cave, trying to find evil gnomes, the cave is probably haunted, doo-de-doo…
Apologies to all my subscribers for the singing voice. I should stop now.

Oh! Well would you look at that? One bar of service! My camera’s gonna go out soon, so I’d better say bye for now.

Wish me luck…

WEEKLY 3

(written on the most dangerous writing app (so… you can imagine the level of quality, hehe), but still formatted nicely because of course I had to)

-

part one: inspiration from music ~

piece one:
* and San by Joe Hisaishi (“Princess Mononoke”)


The sun danced. It was to a fiery tune - and yet, there was something warm and beautiful in the glow of its eyes, in the way it filled the long-empty corridors. Startling, but lovely, all the same.

A rising, scorching march - freedom, the chains of the world long undone. Freedom. No longer forced to work for the heavens, but to travel down below, to see the forests and glen it had created. All these lands, all these creatures - they belong to the sun, and the sun alone. Everything.

For even in the quiet crevices of the world, there was a sign of burning life, never forgotten. Life found a way to bloom in the darkest, most unseeable places in the world. In the deep, deep caverns of the oceans, where the sun did not even reach. In the sky, the flight of long-armed, beautiful birds. Everything existed, for a reason. And it all belonged to the sun.

There was so much to appreciate in the world. No longer bound by the limits of gravity, of mass, of the universe itself - when the sun was only a memory of something it had once been. It was so much more now. So much existed in its gaze, things it had never known before. Life was only a mirage - but the inside of it burned; with a passion one can scarcely imagine, no less comprehend. The sun, mysterious, unknowable, unforgivable.

The hands that created life, as much as laid waste to it. We are spinning tops in the darkness, unknowable, unseeable, unwanted - and yet, above all, desiring to be loved and appreciated. Some things, the sun could give us. But some, only seen in the dance of the fire, was not ever to be ours, in any life now, or the ones some thought would come after.

The sun danced only for itself. If we saw, that was more to its glory - but the gaze of the universe did not fear loss, knowing that all things are powered by the delicate hands of time. All things, would pass, as time ripples across the world. The sun - only a mirage, only a fleeting light, only our eyes, the light of our passions, the glory of our endeavours. We can only dream - but the sun, I imagine, could touch all the places of the cosmos, if it knew how to blaze brightly enough.


(408 words)
-

piece two
Pacific by Sleeping At Last


Nova was going to space.

Somehow, it still didn't seem real. Was she actually going? Leaving Mars - the only home she had ever known?

The light of the stars she had so long of dreamed might envelop her. They would fold her in their dust, the the skies would blaze brightly as her spaceship passed by; a shooting sphere in the dark vastness of space.

“Come on!”

Her friend, Terrence, beckoned her forward. They were all going to space together. It had been hard to get approval from everyone. But they had done it, and the dream was now, impossibly, a reality. They were *really* going to space.

Nova smiled at him. “I'm coming!”

They went to the spaceship. Everyone else had already gathered around, and, grinning, had gathered near the front. They admired the bright steel of the ship, its elegant, refined lines. Their home for the next few months, years - who knew how long? Space-travel was still a mystery, a journey with secrets scientists had yet to uncover.

But, perhaps, they would find something for themselves. Perhaps the skies would open for them like they had for no one else. Nova knew it was a foolish, silly wish, but she couldn't help but hold on to it. She had worked so hard to get here.

Space-travel was not for the faint of heart. It was said to be a dizzy, exhilarating experience; striking your soul and your heart, challenging you to be braver than you had that precise moment.

It had ordinary people into warriors, changed the design of the fates. In taking the stars in their hands, they could change the path of the universe itself.

Nova climbed aboard the spaceship, and turned to smile at her friends.

“Are you ready?”

“YES!” they called to her, their eyes dancing brilliantly in the red glow. Nova inhaled, sharply. She remembered reading about how humans had once lived on Earth, too - a place where the seas were bright blue (a colour that did not even exist on Mars). All she knew was the crimson luminescence of her home.

But her heart yearned for so much more. What would it be like, arms outstretched, brushing against the stars, fingers quaking with sparks?

Together, she and her friends climbed onto the spaceship. This was only the beginning. There was so much more yet to come. So many stories, and so many people to meet.

(407 words)
-


part two: inspiration ~

took inspiration from my cactus that I thought kind of looked like an octopus :')
(it really doesn't but that's okay)

The cactus reached for the non-excitenet sky, its slender arms bracketed by the woes of the sleek, untouched air.

There was something stirring in the breeze - a gentle, familiar call. The sands, streaking through the skies in lines of undefined gold, wavered only momentarily before disappearing into the folds of the unknown. The world breathed it in.

The pale, faded green - like coral, waving in the ocean. And suddenly it was. The cactus grew, twisting and reshaping, its limbs changing in the sky. There was something ecstatic in the transformation: the sands, at long last, claiming their lost heritage and kinship with the water.

Corals, waving, deep, deep in the water below.

Fishes swam among them as the ocean rose. Towering heavily above us all: a gigantic monster. The water touched the ankles of the skies, and we could feel it all changing.

A new place, beginning to form out of where only the empty cry of the wind had been.

I could feel it, too. Not only in the swirl of the cactus-coral, but in the waves, the tide, brushing against the soft sands.

Something new. Something useful? We didn't know yet. But the world quivered and the newborn corals, fashioned out of the sleek remains of cactus, could feel the new destiny in them.

The audacity of that first reef would shape the foundation for many more. An empire. The deserts, vanquished in favour of the sunlight seas. The army of armies and armies of coral.

The light knew its way. It traversed through the skies, seeking the corals. The rains of the centuries now bathed the world in pale, golden shades, and the ocean sparkled with the light of something no one had ever seen before.

Hope. In the blurred miracles, in the taming of the vastness that was the ocean, it was there. Something that could not be named, no matter how hard we tried. We were insignifannt against what truly mattered. The transformation of the cactus? We called it magic. We did not believe in the powers of the world.

Humans. Naively trying to take what did not belong to us. The oceans were the land of the animals and plants that dwelled there. It was their calling. Their adventures. What, indeed, did we know? The waters were breathing. They had been fashioned from cactus leaves, and were now trembling; so long had they been devoid of water. But now, their hearts were full to bursting. There was so much. So much, in the currents, in the light that they could just scarcely perceive. A world of majesty.

The hills of sand were still there; but fish swam in and among the coved areas, darting through the lines. Their sharp eyes inspected their new home curiously. The coral only waved. They were what allowed the fish to live, but they did not know that purpose themselves. Coral is the secret founder of the things none could name. In the peaceful, unnamed presence of the new world, they had no say.


The ocean was breathing now. It whispered a sad, lonely song - one that we could not understand, as hard as we tried. Something dark and fearsome. It told us of its dangers. But we grasped at straws, ropes worn thin by time and space. There was nothing the ocean did not know, it seemed. All the land of the desert, too, was now theirs - all because of this mystifying dream of mine.

Where had it come from? Why was this so? I did not understand. I feared I never would. Mysteries, mysteries. Reaching from the other side of the veiled curtain, making darkened faces at me. Why was the question we asked - but perhaps there was more to it than that.

Perhaps this was all our weak, human forms would allow us to see. But beyond, I knew – awaited a land of magic and wonder we would never see. All the secrets of the universe. A daunting, terrifying thought. I wondered if the cactus-coral knew them. I wondered, but only briefly, if they had been taken for the cause of the magic. Would the ocean really have taken them instead of me?

(702 words)

-

part three: delving into themes ~

continuation of Nova's story from piece 2 of part 1 ^^
the theme is “being brave and facing challenges with friend” (yes I know, I'm very sorry)

It felt like they had been going forever.

Trapped in the unforgiving arms of the black space - and even though they had chosen to be there, Nova and her friends were anxious about what awaited them at the end of their long, ardous journeys.

Would there even be an end? Or would the long, silver arms of the universe stretch forever - infinie, unreachable, and completely unknable.

“Don't despair!” said Chloe, noticing everyone seemed extremely sad. “We'll find something truly extraordinary.”

They offered her weary smiles. Of course, they were hopeful to - but there was a limit to how much enthusiasm they could hold. Everything seemed dark, dark; not only their hearts, but also their surroundings: quite literally.

“Over there!” Terrence cried out suddenly. “I think I see something.”

They all rushed to the window. Indeed, there was an odd shape floating in the darkness.

“The map doesn't say that anything that big should be here,” said Nova, glancing at it.

“Oh, who cares? Let's go check it out!” Mark said, excitedly. “We've been here forever. If there's something, no matter what it is, I want to see.”

The others nodded.

“Alright,” Nova conceded, a bit reluctantly.



Wearing their spacesuits, they glided out to the mysterious shape.

“It's…” Marie, struggling to form words, stared.

“A giant teddy bear,” Terrence concluded.

“Oh, come on!” Nova huffed.

“But,” Chloe insisted, "it's a giant teddy bear! Look at this thing. It's incredible.“

Even Marie had to admit it was. Huge chunks of its arms and legs had been torn out - by what they could not even guess - and its large, black eyes stared emptily down at them.

”What should we do with it?“ Mark asked. He, too, looked disappointing - but like everyone else, the teddy bear had given him purpose. Something to do.

”Let's try to bring it in,“ Nova suggested. ”Inside, maybe, we can investigate and try to figure out where it came from."

They dragged in the huge, bulky thing. It took hours. It was heavy, and the four could barely hold onto a single limb in the gravityless space. They were used to the weight of Mars, but here in the middle of nowhere, nothing seemed to make sense.

Finally, after a lot of hard work, they managed. The teddy bear sprawled on the ground. It was a pitiful thing, and bore no resemblance to the teddy bears that they themselves had known. This one had no special features, and it did not seem that it could talk.

They were fascinated by its stoicness, and seeming lack of interest in anything - they assumed it had had no previous encounters with people from Mars, and it did not even seem fazed in the slightest.

“That's one poker-faced teddy bear,” said Terrence, and the others murmured in agreement.

Mark sighed. "But what do we do with it? There are no signs of ownership anywhere on it.“

”Wait!“

They all turned around. Marie was holding up something.

”What is it?“ Terrence asked.

”It's a tag! But … it looks like it's written in a different language, so I can't read it.“

”Then what's the point?“ Terrence threw up his arms.

”Hmm, maybe we can scan it,“ Nova suggested. ”It might be useful. It's something we came across in *space*, after all.“

”It's the only thing we came across,“ Mark suggested, but he didn't protest.

They scanned the tag. In a flash of blue light, it flared up. ”It's … from Earth!“ Terrence cried, his eyes widening.

”But we're so far away,“ Nova mused. ”How could it have come this far?“

”I don't know. But, maybe …“

Frowning, Terrence grabbed this teddy's arm, inspecting the torn cotton.

”Maybe it came from another spaceship,“ Chloe said.

”That's right! A spaceship - “

”From Earth,“ Terrence finished.

He glanced up at them. ”Do you know what this means?“

(”I doubt you'd let us actually guess,“ Marie murmured under her breath.”)

“There are people from Earth! Out here.”

“Survivors,” said Nova, and there was so much in that one one - the kindling of hope, newly born, but growing.

“Survivors from Earth,” Chloe said, her eyes glowing. “Maybe they're still out here! Maybe we'll find them.”

“But how do we know they want to be found?” asked Marie quietly. “There must be a reason they never came to Mars, a reason that they're out here.”

“There definitely has to be a reason why they dumped this huge teddy bear in the middle of Space,” Nova added. “We have to lead with caution. We don't know who these people are. We don't even know if they're actually here.”

“But we came here to find out!” Chloe insisted. “That's our mission. We all risked everything to come on this journey. And this is the first clue we found.”

“And it's not just any clue,” Mark piped in. “It's a clue about our ancestors - from Earth! Haven't you guys always wanted to see Earth?”

Of course they had. The blue dot, the green isles - Earth, the home of humans, and animals. Where their great-granparents, and those who had come before, had been born.

“But we don't know what we'll find,” Marie said.

“We'll face it together!” Chloe smiled at her. “As long as we're together, we'll be okay.”

“You definitely don't know that,” said Terrence. “But,” he added, seeing Chloe open her mouth to retort, “I do agree with you. It will be dangerous, and being together might not solve that. But we're all smart, incredible people. We fought for this chance together. We came here together. We might not be okay after all this - but we can't let our efforts be meaningless.”


“Terrence is right,” Mark said. “Let's find out where this teddy bear came from.”

They all looked to Nova, who still hadn't spoken yet. “Alright …” she said, slowly. “I agree with you. We might not come out of this unscraped, and maybe we'll find out things we don't want to know. But this is still a journey we can face.”

“Okay,” said Marie, giving a small smile. “If you're all going, I'm in, too.”

And with that, they began planning their next adventure.

(1019 words)


total: 2536 words

Kenna’s SWC March 22’ Weekly III
TW: violence, death, abuse, depression
this is my worst weekly like,, ever??? maybe?? pls save urself and dont read!! (all the parts ) i have a thing abt writing abt pain in this weekly sdfghjaks ,,,

this was so rushed omg i forgot it was due today !!
TOTAL: 2650 WORDS

PART ONE:
Inspired by Introduction and Rondo capriccioso in A Major, Op. 28 - Camille Saint-Saëns
459 words, min. 400
———

Her eyes flutter shut, and she falls.

She tiptoes through the enchanting yet eerie garden, her footfalls so gentle she could be mistaken for flying. It’s less of a “soaring through the air” type of flying, and more of a “floating in the air; waiting up above” type of flying. The dynamics of her steps are elegant, like an angel of nature, but also strong, like a bird of prey. She almost feels embarrassed, stepping on this beautiful canvas of a field. The texture of the grass tickles the soles of her feet. It pricks her skin like needles, but she still shows sympathy, as if the ground will shatter if she suddenly runs out of rhythm.

The flowers sway in harmony. Their movements are delicate but powerful: they’re slow dancing their way into whatever dream– or nightmare this is. The grass is damp from the sorrow the sky brought it just a few hours before, and the critters are quiet– asleep, dreaming their way out of the fog of grief that’s blocking the sun. Now, the only noise is the wispy hum of the trees, and the soft patter of her footsteps.

Is this a dream?

It had never been this quiet before. It feels surreal, it feels ethereal. And hopefully, it will be eternal. A whisper blows through the air, taunting her; inviting her to dance, to run. She wants to run, she wants to stay, she wants to… What does she want? Her feet are numb. Not from pain, not from joy, but from a longing and aching need to escape. If it’s a dream, why should she escape?

She feels her body moving on its own, running away from… what, exactly?

She doesn’t know.

Does she want to know?

She runs and runs and runs. The wind’s canines kiss her skin, roaring in fury. The taunts of the breeze reach a crescendo, and she runs even faster, frightened. The air is sharp, its accented blows more painful than any punch. Her legs move faster.

Where is she running to?

Her legs wobble and her body aches. She’s sore and tired all over; begging to give up to lethargy. Yet she keeps running.

As a kid, she would jump on the bed a lot. It was her way of escaping reality. But now, the field is a bed of knives, stabbing her every time she takes another step. When she runs, why won’t the pain decrease? Perhaps this is a nightmare. Or maybe she’s running into darkness.

Each stride leads to another bleeding cut.

Should she just give in now? Has she shed enough blood for it all to end?

If she stops running, will the pain disappear? Will it become quiet again?

Maybe, just maybe…


Inspired by Étude Op. 10 - No. 4 in C-sharp minor - Chopin
405 words, min. 400
———

The floor hums.

It rumbles. It shakes. Cracks form, and the concrete starts to crumble. I trace the splits with my fingertips, and I feel pieces of the ground falling. It’s gentle at first. It’s always gentle at first. Later, it will all crash and burn. That’s all that matters, right? What happens in the end…

The next thing I know, there are pools of blood everywhere I step, and a cacophony of screams are clouding my hearing. Ah, so it’s already begun.

I taste blood.

My legs are moving.

I am possessed.

Am I the one that’s causing this?

Yes I am!

I look down at my fingers, which are now translucent. I feel power, I feel glory. The destruction… I understand it.

I feel free.

I am doing them a favor, ending their lives. Those pitiful, meaningless, timelines in a body. Some have already reached lethargy. Others have hope. They believe in miracles. Oh, what a lie those are.

Perhaps I should go down with them.

I am the wrong, disgraceful, disappointment to society. Throughout my terrible career, I have realized something, dear society. Happiness. I feel happiness when the buildings come crashing down. I feel happiness when your loved ones burn. I feel happy for you, because you all are begging– screaming to die, but you just don’t know it. Thank me later.

I deserve to die, you say. But without me, will you really be able to survive? There are always lies in happy lives. I might be ruined, but so is society. I have reached lethargy as well. I only do this to climb towards the sun. You have to walk the hardest paths to achieve the greatest. I’m doing good; ending your pain, your suffering.

And in the end, you will be happy. You’ll get over it. Truly, there is no meaning at all. So I hope, someday, you’ll understand.

You’ll understand me, who’s labeled a mass murderer.

You’ll understand that what happens in the end is all that matters.

I crave happiness.

You’ll understand that this is my happiness, under your stupid illusion of perfection.

You’ll understand… NEVER!!

I smell the smoke, I feel the ashes. I pour the oil. I smile.

I jump.

A wispy laugh escapes my lips.

I lie down. I watch the building burn, I listen to the screams sing.

I’m really, truly sorry, dear society.

I close my eyes.

It’s all quiet again.

PART TWO:
Inspired by 村田 雨月 from ギヴン
738 words, min. 700

(this is a fanfiction!! birdi said it was fine lol,, used this for 3/18 daily as well ++ again– don't read pls it's so bad and rushed lmao)
———

The crowd erupts in cheers.

I bow,
he smiles.

–

Usually, the sound of the crowd gives me euphoria. But today, there’s an aching, longing ring in my ears. The ringing hurts me, even. I’ve won once again. Yet I’m still experiencing pain. It’s pain airbrushed with fury and sadness– all the same to me now. All my feelings, everything. Everything I do, it leads to pain.

It’s all his fault.

It’s like a headache. You would do anything to get rid of it, but no matter what, it’s still there; scattering your thoughts, tearing your mind apart. You need one once in a while to get your mind back to this hell of a reality. You don’t want it, but it still happens.

He’s my headache.

I look up. The audience is smiling, laughing, clapping. They’re experiencing the euphoria I can’t feel. It’s not fair. Shouldn’t they carry my pain? Can’t they hear it? Can’t they hear the pain and sorrow I’m screaming through my music? He can hear it, I know. He can hear it, and he just pours more salt in the wound. I want to scream.

Ha. Now that I think about it, Tchaikovsky’s music is really, really ethereal. It’s so delicate, yet so powerful. It feels as if… someone’s slicing your throat slowly, but gently. It’s over now, though, I suppose. It’s over. It’s over, but I still carry the suffering, anguishing music within me. I’m really one pathetic loser.

Row M, seat 713.

There sits another pathetic loser. I love him to death, but I want my love to end. He tears me apart and hurts me. We suffocate each other. I’m waiting for the day he leaves, but when he does, I’ll be left with nothing. I have no one to turn to, nowhere to go.

I realize it now. He has power over me. One day, he’ll choose to leave and never come back. What will I do then? I think about it a thousand times a day. I can’t clearly picture it, though. Maybe it’s because I love him.

Perhaps I “need” him. People often need things that are bad for them. Is that the case for me as well? People who don’t have power often think they need things, too. I love him, and I think he loves me. Sometimes being in love with someone doesn’t mean that you’re meant to be together. Love is supposed to be a gentle, sweet, and tender thing. So why is it a force so powerful it can tear you apart?

He tears me apart. Piece by piece, I’ve been crumbling for the past two years. No one’s here to pick up my debris, no one’s here to clean up the mess I am. When he’s gone, will dust be all that’s left?

The stage lights warms my skin. I should go. Am I smiling? How long have I been standing here for? The audience is still applauding, my ears are still ringing. I glance up at him one last time, but his gaze is now fixed somewhere new. Realization pounds my head; the pain heavier than any punch. My mind is a collage of a nightmare: broken bits arranged to create a musical prodigy, and somehow, the shards of it fall down to my heart, and stab it. It bleeds endlessly. Soon, half of the artwork will fade away. Will it stop the bleeding, or will it open the wound further? My mind continues to break. If I just let go, will it mend? Will his absence glue the pieces back together? No one wants a collage. Canvas paintings are always more preferable.

So it’s him.

I close my eyes, and walk off the stage. I place my violin back in its case. It clicks shut. Then, I grip the handle and run.

I run and run and run. What– who am I even running from?

Concerto in D major, Op. 35, is labeled allegro: lively, cheerful, happy. What a pleasant little lie that is. When I play it, I feel like I’m being torn apart. Why the hell should a composer who died hundreds of years ago decide how someone else plays their music? I only play music because I have no one else to turn to. If I chose to play pieces based on its key, I would be playing minor my whole life. I am so, so, so pathetic.

PART THREE:
Continuing part 2

ASDFGHJDFKSGHJKFASADSFGHJKFSLGJFAKSHJKADHFDSKDFAJKFKS I HAVE 1 HOUR I NEED TO DO THIS AAAA

i separated it so i’ll write less lmao,,, THIS IS REALLY REALLY REALLY BAD IT WAS SO RUSHED OMG OK

THEMES: PAIN, ROMANCE, MOVING ON, CLOSURE

1048 words, min. 1000
———

I sigh. The rain falls to the ground like bombs; the sound of the water’s punches rising to a crescendo. I can no longer hear the ringing, but I still feel pain. Pain that follows you wherever you go, like a shadow. Sometimes the shadow enlarges and sometimes it shrinks. The shadow of two people is larger than one. Is the pain worse, then?

I’m so lonely.

Our love was so strong that it broke us.
What the hell is the point of falling in love just to suffer?

“Ugetsu!”

I run faster, and my shadow reflects the new tempo.

“Wait up, Ugetsu!”

“No, Akihiko. I won't, cause you’re going to talk about breaking up.”

“Hah?–”

He must hate me. He must think I hate him. We, humans, are so weird, hiding our emotions like that. He probably has hidden things too. He probably loves someone else. He probably has a choice. He probably has people and things to turn to. He probably thinks… I do too.

I want to scream that I don’t.

I feel like a doll. Sometimes I’m tossed to the side, neglected. Perhaps I’d sit there for years upon years, or maybe I’d be picked up the next minute. When I’m held tight, I’d be abused. When I’m far away, I’d be lonely. I break every now and then. I’m truly broken all the time, but when I’m noticeably broken, they’ll fix me. Sew me back together, with that sharp, cold needle. It seems like a loving and caring act. It’s not. They just can’t see the blood, because it always bleeds. It’s just a part of me, to them. One day, they’ll get sick of fixing me. They’ll throw me away for good, and I have no idea what I’ll do. I’ll have nothing left. I’ve always wanted to die. But I’m a doll, and we can’t die.

“Ugetsu, please!”

I feel his skin through my sleeve.

I stop moving. My shadow is so still, the pain pierces my body like I’m lying on a bed of knives. I drop my violin case. I don’t dare to look at him.

“I’ve always loved the violin… I don’t feel free when I’m…. with you its…. I can’t … I’m leaving… found… new… love….be free with…your…music…drums is just….fun…. Ugetsu?… Ugetsu?? Hello?… I love you…. bye bye…”

I whip around to face him, but he’s not there. Tears frost my vision. They sting my eyes, they stab my heart. I wanna…

I pick up the violin case. I’m running again… running away… I hate this…

I’ve been tossed aside.

I’m laughing now. It’s funny. I can empathize with a doll. Who knew…

The rain has slowed down now, I realize.

I stop. I’m on a highway. I lean on the bridge rails, and I close my eyes.

Maybe I should just.. jump…

The concerto is still playing in my head, except it's distorted now. It just feels like… a symphony of pain. Ah… he ruined music for me didn’t he… I hate him so much…. I love him to death…

The cars in front of me are a blur, and I believe the rain has stopped. I hear a few mutters from passer-byers. I hear one girl crying. “That’s the guy who just performed, right, Mama? He… his music was so sad! I hate the violin, Mama. I hate it. He must hate it too, then, right? He’s sitting there… all alone and sad! Shouldn’t you go help him? Talk to him, please!”

The mother shakes her head.

They continue to walk.

How can they… just move on like that?

I would do anything– everything to move on.

Would jumping off give me closure?

But what if… I try and it doesn’t?

I’m tired, so tired…

I unclick my violin case.

I want to rip the strings off, I want to burn the wood.

Isn’t that funny? I knew it. He would steal the only thing I had left, music. He would ruin it. The only thing I have, the only love, the only happiness…

I lift the string instrument up, and place it under my jaw. Why… why…

Each scratch, each scar on my violin was from a fight with him. Maybe, just maybe, they would heal now that he’s gone. Perhaps my always-bleeding cuts would heal too.

I grip the bow, and start to play.

I notice the girl and her mom heading back towards me. What– why? Why are they crawling back to the hellhole? Shouldn’t they be walking towards the light, the sun? Why are they not choosing to move on? Why is the girl choosing to listen to something she hates? Why am I playing something I hate?

“It’s a happy song, Mama! He’s playing a happy song! And see, the rain has stopped! He must be a god, Mama… I changed my mind! I love the violin! He probably does too! That performance was just a fake. There was this guy sitting next to me… he probably ruined it! The violinist was staring at him the whole time! I could hear it! It was so painful, yet so beautiful! But now, he’s gone, and the violinist has moved on! How cool is that, Mama?”

The doll has been sewn back together.

Sorry, young girl, but this is the same concerto. The same Tchaikovsky, the same key, the same piece.

“Mother! Do you understand now? Remember when you used to hit me? It was so painful, Mama! So painful! Yet I loved you, so I wouldn’t run away! This is just like that, trust me! Can’t you hear it? Can’t you hear the pain? It’s the same pain as before, but it’s not dangling like threads, it’s sewn together to create a collage!”

Oh, I see now. This girl… she’s a doll too, I suppose.

“Yuki, dear. Let the man play the violin in peace.”

“But you love the violin too, don’t you, Mama? You used to play so much! So much, when you hit me! But now…”

“I do still love it, Yuki,” the mother whispers.

She crouches down, and looks me in the eye. I stop playing. The girl pouts.

“Closure, Murata-kun.”

The girl seems satisfied.

“Good luck!”

And they walk back along the path of light.